


Sagittaria

by multilingualism



Series: The Andromeda Program [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, F/M, Healer Severus Snape, Medical Inaccuracies, Minor Injuries, Power Imbalance, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 107,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multilingualism/pseuds/multilingualism
Summary: Hermione Granger is one of the select few to join the prestigious Andromeda Program to explore space for all of humanity. She thinks it will be an excellent opportunity to prove her worth and show her mettle, but perhaps living on a spaceship and spending her time with the same group of people is not all it's cracked up to be. Or maybe one person in particular is making it especially difficult.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: The Andromeda Program [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847914
Comments: 181
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for clicking. What follows is a brief description of warnings for this story:
> 
> Snape not only is in a position of power in this organization, he is also like a university professor of sorts to Hermione and co. They are all adults, but if that is not your cup of tea, I will not be offended if you click away. Main characters will also suffer a variety of injuries. The descriptions of the injuries should not be too graphic but I will also try to adequately warn you of what type of injury may be contained in each chapter. I am not a doctor and I have never even seen an episode of Grey's Anatomy so prepare for inaccuracies.
> 
> This is also the first story in a trilogy, so prepare for a *slow* burn.
> 
> Now you should be adequately warned. (If I missed something, feel free to tell me)
> 
> INJURY WARNING FOR CHAPTER ONE
> 
> Hermione breaks her hand.

The loading dock was full of people hugging and kissing and giving their last tearful goodbyes to their loved ones. Hermione, on the other hand, was here by herself. Pack in hand, she pushed past the families to get to the shuttle. She understood that it would be many years until they reunited, but could they not be in her way?

Hermione eventually made it on board. She walked past the many compartments, looking for a spot for herself. Each compartment held four harnesses for four passengers but all of the ones Hermione had previously passed were already at least half-full. Hermione did not want to intrude on any groups of friends, especially since she was not entirely sure she would be welcome. She had not been exactly the most popular person in Basic Training.

Eventually Hermione found a compartment that only held one other passenger, a boy—well, _man_ , technically—whose name she was pretty sure was Longbottom. He had almost been as unpopular as she had been. Surely, he would not object to her joining him.

“Private Longbottom,” Hermione said. Lord, that was an awkward combination of words. “May I join you?”

“You may.” Private Longbottom smiled at her, revealing a gap-toothed grin. Her own parents had made her get her teeth fixed, but on Longbottom the look was admittedly endearing. “You’re Private Granger, right?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied uneasily. What had he heard about her? 

“You can call me Neville, by the way,” he added, still smiling at her.

Hermione nodded and entered the compartment, securing her bag under the seat opposite Longbottom. Then she buckled herself in and tightened the straps securely. She snuck a quick glance at her companion. He was looking at her expectantly. Was he waiting for her to offer her own first name? Well, she was not going to. Didn’t he know it was against protocol?

“What track did you choose?” Longbottom asked.

Honestly, if Hermione had known he would be so talkative, she would have never selected this compartment. Maybe it would have been better to be ostracized.

“Science,” Hermione replied tersely.

“Wow! I chose science too. I’m the most excited for xenobotany though.”

Hermione nodded. The subject had also interested her. But that was not too hard. Everything on her schedule interested her. She returned her companion’s gaze but he was looking out the window. Hermione followed his gaze to see an older woman waving at him. She looked back at Longbottom who was blushing fiercely.

“That’s my gran,” he said by way of explanation.

“Is she a member of the Program?” Technically a recruit could obtain passes for two close family members but based on her uniform—so similar to the one Hermione was wearing—it looked like that had not been the case for Neville’s grandmother.

Longbottom rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, my whole family is. My gran reenlisted after…”

Hermione was not really listening, however, and she did not have to listen. The fact that his grandmother was standing there, by herself, told Hermione everything she needed to know. She had lost her children to the war—there was no way they would not be here for this otherwise—and now she was sending her grandson to space as well. At least things had been quiet for around two decades now.

“Are your parents—?” Longbottom asked.

“No. No, they’re just regular doctors. Couldn’t make it. Unfortunately...” she said, trailing off.

Hermione’s parents could have been there but they had not filled out their paperwork in time to get special dispensation to come onto the base as civilians. At least, that’s what they had told Hermione. Deep down Hermione knew they were still mad at her for joining the Andromeda Program. They didn’t want her to die in someone else’s battles. Hermione had told them she was going to save lives and make marvelous discoveries out there. They told her she could do all of that on Earth.

An alarm chimed telling the passengers to secure themselves and their belongings. Hermione continued to stare out the window as she heard Longbottom fiddle with his buckle.

“It looks like it’s just us going up then,” Longbottom said when he had finished.

However, as if to disprove what he said out of spite, two men—real, adult men—opened the compartment to join them. Hermione saw their insignia immediately and saluted them. Longbottom did not.

“At ease, private,” the light-haired officer with the mustache said, with a chuckle.

Hermione relaxed her arm. At first she wanted to give them their privacy and let them settle in, in peace, but then she had the strangest impulse to look at the dark-haired officer. He was glowering at no one in particular and gave off a general aura of misery. He had severe features: a sharp, aquiline nose that looked like it had been broken and set multiple times, prominent cheekbones, and a pointed chin.

Hermione had thought she was safe to stare at him until he turned his glower to her. His brow creased and his frown deepened when he caught her staring. Hermione returned to staring out the window.

“I didn’t realize officers rode the shuttle,” Longbottom said, probably trying to ease the tension. He was doing a poor job of it, however, if he thought talking to officers unbidden was a good way of accomplishing this. 

Honestly, Hermione thought, if this boy did not realize what was good for him, he was in for a whole world of trouble for the foreseeable future.

“How else do you expect us to get to the ship?” the dark-haired officer practically spat.

“Now, now, Severus. I’m sure the private was just curious what we’re doing on the shuttle to the training base. Well, Private—” the light-haired officer asked.

“Longbottom, sir,” Longbottom provided.

“Private Longbottom, Officer Snape and I have the distinct honor of being some of your instructors on the Hogwarts. I teach self-defense and he teaches medicine.”

Officer Snape’s name was Severus, eh? The name certainly matched his face.

“What are your chosen tracks?” the light-haired officer asked. He still had not offered his name. Hermione squinted at his officer’s jacket. She was not entirely sure, but she thought it said, “Lupin.”

“Science, sir,” Longbottom said. “Both of us.”

“And Private Granger couldn’t tell us this herself? Is she shy or something?”

Hermione wanted to snap that she was not shy; she only spoke when spoken to, as was expected of her. And Longbottom had answered before she had. But she was not going to get very far if she mouthed off to her superiors, especially on the first day.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Officer Maybe-Lupin said. “You’ve got a lot of promise.” Hermione noticed that he had some serious scars on his face, clearly a remnant of past battles. Though why he had not chosen to heal them, she had no idea. Maybe it was a badge of honor or some other macho thing she did not understand.

If Hermione had not been looking at him, Hermione might not have thought he was talking about her. After all, someone else must surely have more promise than her, like one of the legacy recruits.

She nodded her response but when she remembered the comment about her being shy, Hermione added, “Thank you, sir.”

Office Maybe-Lupin was smiling at her wolfishly. “It’s too bad you’re not in my discipline, but I’m sure Officer Snape is happy to have you under his purview.”

Hermione could not hear Officer Snape’s thrilled response because the shuttle started making an ungodly noise and a voice came over the loudspeaker, “Now preparing to launch.”

There was the sound of hydraulics and Hermione felt her body slowly being tipped forward. Time slowed yet Hermione’s heart beat faster with all of the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The engines starting up rumbled Hermione to her core. When it felt like she had been shaking forever, the shaking stopped and the shuttle lurched. Hermione’s stomach dropped.

But just after she barely began to feel this sensation, the shuttle accelerated and suddenly there was the pressure of many g’s against her chest. She shut her eyes and grit her teeth; the sensation was unbearable… until it was over and she had seemingly borne it. She looked out the window and could see Earth disappearing from view and suddenly she was grinning so broadly that her face was starting to hurt.

She heard a chuckle from across the compartment and saw that Officer Lupin was looking at her. Why was this man laughing at her?

“I’ll always remember my first time. I think I had a similar reaction,” he said. “But eventually it becomes almost mundane.”

Hermione nodded, still a little riled up that she had been laughed at. Her automatic response to laughter was to tense up since she had grown accustomed to it being directed at her for being a little different.

“We are now preparing to enter hyperspace,” the announcer-voice said. “After which time you will be free to move around the cabin.”

Hermione breathed in deeply to prepare for the jump. They had also trained for this and it was supposed to feel worse than leaving the Earth’s atmosphere. Their instructors in Basic Training had described it as feeling like being pulled through a tube by your navel.

When Hermione had completed the experience, she could agree that that was an accurate assessment. She had thought cramps or being whacked in the gut by a stun staff had been bad but this had been infinitely worse. She was just grateful she had not hurled on one of the officers’ boots. That would have probably earned her a reprimand. At least, from Officer Snape. Officer Lupin would probably laugh at her. Hell, he was probably laughing at her now.

But when she looked up to sneak a peek at him, she saw that he was fiddling with his harness. Hermione was confused but then she heard rustling beside her. Officer Snape was also unhooking himself from his seat. Hermione wanted to tell them that the pilot had not given them permission but they were also her superior officers, so she held her tongue. If she had learned anything so far, it was: always do what someone above you told you to.

Her unease, however, was cut short when the announcement voice said, “The captain has turned off the fasten-seatbelt sign. You are now free to roam about the cabin. We should be arriving at the Hogwarts at 1800 hours.” Hermione checked her watch. That was about seven more hours. Luckily Hermione had come prepared.

She reached under her seat and unzipped one of the pockets of her bag. She pulled out her standard-issue tablet and set it on her lap, buckling herself back in. Hermione heard another laugh—presumably from Officer Lupin—but now she was trying too hard to concentrate on her reading to care too much. Besides, they had told them to remain belted in their seats when not walking around. It was not her fault that they could not follow instructions. She wondered how these people had ever become officers in the first place.

There was a lot of coming and going from the compartment but Hermione continued to sit there, absorbed in a textbook.

“Hey,” a voice said. Hermione looked up from her book. Didn’t this person realize she was reading and thus, should not be disturbed? Longbottom was talking to her. “Do you want anything from the snack car?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” Hermione replied. “I brought my own.” She returned to reading.

“Do you want to come with me anyway? Just to stretch your legs?”

Hermione really was getting annoyed now. Wasn’t one rejection enough? “That won’t be necessary,” Hermione responded tersely. “I went on a run this morning before launch and I also will need to use the washroom soon enough anyway.”

“Alright,” Longbottom said, leaving the compartment. “Message received.”

Hermione tried to continue reading her book where she had left off but she kept thinking about her interaction with Longbottom. What was his deal? She hoped he was just being friendly and not being _friendly_. Romantic relationships were strictly forbidden on the Porphyrion but Hermione knew that did not stop some people from trying. But even if he was being regular-friendly, Hermione did not know how to make him understand that she had not enlisted to make friends.

Longbottom had come and gone many times, as well as had Officer Lupin, but when Hermione finally left to freshen up, she realized that Officer Snape had gone and never returned. Not that it was any of her business. He probably had important “officer things” to attend to or he could be in the officers lounge, enjoying a drink. Strictly speaking, officers were not supposed to drink on duty, but Hermione was not sure if riding the shuttle counted as being “on duty.”

“Shit,” Longbottom said some time later. This was shocking enough to distract her from her reading. Did this Longbottom guy _want_ to get in trouble? But apparently Lupin had left once more and Snape was still getting shitfaced. Probably. Hermione would probably be getting shitfaced if she had a sour personality like him.

“Hey. Sorry to bother you…” Oh, now Longbottom understood it. “But did you happen to see—this is going to sound really weird—a little toad figurine.”

“No, I have not. But I also have not really looked up from my tablet this whole trip.”

“Thanks, anyway,” Longbottom said, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. 

Must be a habit from when his hair was longer, Hermione thought. Like how sometimes she still tried to tuck non-existent, errant curls behind her ear when she was anxious or thinking.

“Why? Did you lose one?” Hermione was not sure why she was asking and prolonging the conversation. Maybe because she still felt a little bad for how he had said “Message received,” or the way he prefaced the question with, “Sorry to bother you.”

“Uh,” Longbottom said, sounding more than a little surprised. “Yeah, I did. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but my uncle gave it to me and…”

Hermione did not have to wait for him to finish that sentence. Longbottom’s uncle had been another casualty of the Program.

“Would you like help?” Hermione said, shutting off her tablet. “I can help you look, I mean.”

“Would you? I hope you don’t feel any obligation; I know you’re busy.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Hermione said, bending down to put her tablet back into her bag. She unbuckled her harness, stood up, and did a couple of stretches. “And as you said, I should stretch my legs.”

Since Hermione had been reading most of the time so she had not realized just how crowded the halls were. She could not imagine what was so important that these people had to be out of their compartments. Still, she kept her eyes trained on the ground, looking for a silver flash of metal. Unfortunately, however, this state-of-the-art shuttle was all metal paneling and metal flooring. This would be a harder task than she had anticipated.

Who gave their nephew a metal toad anyway? It must be an inside joke or something. Or, she realized guiltily, his uncle had given it to Longbottom before he went off to battle all those years ago when Longbottom was still young.

Then, while scanning the floor by a storage closet, she saw something that could have been a metal toad if she squinted hard enough. She looked around—this part of the shuttle was empty enough—and squatted down to get a closer look.

Hermione was just about to reach out to inspect the object in question further when she heard the hiss of hydraulics followed by an intense pain in her hand. She looked at her hand and saw that it was now sandwiched between two of the hydraulic doors.

“Jesus-Fucking-Christ!” she said, probably a little too loudly. Her mother had always told her how she swore like a sailor and had said she hated her blasphemous swearing most of all. But she hoped, in this case, an exception could be made.

Whoever had opened the door must have heard her yelp of pain because the doors were now closing and she could extricate her hand.

“Are you alright?” a voice asked.

Stabbing pain was travelling up the nerve endings in her arm up to her brain. She cradled the wrist, staring at the smashed hand, still in shock. “No, I think you fucking-broke my fucking-hand.”

“Whoa, there’s no need for language like that!”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she said, finally straightening up to look her hand-smasher in the eye. “I said you broke my—” Hermione stopped speaking.

Blue eyes met her own. Freckles dotted his face and nose. And despite the close-cropped style, she could still see it was a gorgeous auburn color.

“Ron, what’s wrong?” Another boy said. This one had green eyes, dark hair, and a strange scar on his forehead.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Hermione said quickly. “In fact, I was just going to the medbay.”

“Hey, wait!” the red-haired boy said. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you. What were you even doing down there?”

“A boy called Neville,” she was not sure why she was using his first name then, but she supposed either the pain or the blue eyes was muddling her brain, “lost his toad. I thought I saw it.”

The redhead—apparently named Ron—looked confused. “He brought his toad into space?”

“No,” Hermione said, still cradling her busted hand, as fresh waves of pain radiated from it. “It was— _is_ —an important trinket to him.”

“Right…” Ron said. “So, do you want me to take you to the medbay or…?”

Hermione knew what she thought earlier when there was a possibility that Private Longbottom had an interest in her, but now that there was a possibility that a cute boy—well, _man_ —would escort her to the medbay, Hermione was singing a different tune. Nothing would come of this, but it was not like it would hurt her to look.

“Alright. Only if you want to, of course,” Hermione said.

The two walked in the opposite direction Hermione had come. Hermione had no idea if this was actually the right way but this boy looked like he had some idea, so she was content to follow him. Plus, if they were going the wrong way, that just meant they could spend more time together.

Lord, that was a dangerous thought. Hermione had to be careful.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

Hermione looked down at her hand. Her pinky finger certainly was bent at an odd angle. “A little,” she said, feigning bravery.

“I’m Ron, by the way,” he said, offering his hand. “Ronald Weasley.” Hermione looked at his proffered hand then looked at her hand with the messed-up pinky. “Right, sorry.” Weasley dropped his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Private Weasley. Private Granger.” Weasley laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“You don’t have to do that, you know? Say ‘private.’”

Hermione blinked. “Those are the rules.”

“Well, the rules don’t matter when no officers are around.”

“How do you know? And it isn’t good practice for when they are around.”

“Listen, Granger,” Weasley began. “Are all of your older brothers in the Program?”

“No,” Hermione said, not sure why this was relevant. “I am an only child.”

“Fine. Were your parents in the Program?”

“No.”

“Were your grandparents in the Program?”

“No.”

“Were your great-grandparents in the Program?”

“No.”

“Were your great-great—”

“Alright. I got it. You’ve made your point. Although, I’m not sure what it is.”

“What I’m saying is that I know how things work around here. So, what’s your first name, Private Granger?” Hermione frowned. Maybe this boy was not as cute as her adrenaline-addled brain had led her to believe. 

“Well, here we are,” Weasley said, gesturing to a door with a faintly glowing cross over it.

“Thank you, Private Weasley for making sure I got here safely.” Weasley was giving her a look like he was waiting for something else. “By the way, you have dirt on your nose. Right here,” she gestured on her own nose using her good hand. Then she opened the door and entered, watching Weasley’s stunned face before she closed it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INJURY WARNING FOR CHAPTER TWO
> 
> Hermione's hand is still broken. Discussions of broken bones, bruising, painkillers, and resetting bones.

“Private Granger,” a deep voice intoned from across the room.

Hermione was about to wonder how this person could possibly know her name when she turned to see Officer Snape, sitting on a stool, reading from his own tablet. So, this is where he had been the whole time. Apparently he was not in the Officers’ Lounge sipping on cocktails. She supposed it did make some amount of sense that the pharmacology instructor might be in charge of medbay, at least on the shuttle.

Then Hermione remembered where she was and saluted the man accordingly. That was a mistake. Her smashed hand was also her saluting hand. “Officer Snape,” she said through clenched teeth, wincing through the pain.

He waved his arm at her indicating that she could put her arm down. Still, she wanted to stand at attention since she had not been told otherwise and did not want to be reprimanded. Part of standing at attention was to keep her hand flat, with her middle finger lined up with the seam of her trousers, but, with the way in which her bones were currently sitting, it was nearly impossible and painful to do so.

“I don’t usually see people on this trip. This is usually my ‘read alone time.’” Hermione did not say anything but kept her eyes trained forward. She had not been given permission to speak. “In any case,” he said, turning off his tablet. “What can I help you with? Did you stub your toe?”

“I broke my hand, sir,” Hermione answered, trying to keep her voice even.

Officer Snape’s eyebrows rose. They were large—to say the least—but she was surprised to notice how full and well-shaped they were. “At ease, private,” he said, standing up from her stool. “You can take a seat up here.” Snape gestured to the examination bench.

Hermione walked over, suddenly nervous, though she was not entirely sure why. Since her parents were also doctors, she had been around medical professionals her entire life. Perhaps it was because Snape already seemed to not like her and if he had to re-break her fingers into place, he would probably not be gentle about it. Luckily for her, however, this shuttle’s medbay appeared to have a bone resetter, so that form of treatment would not be necessary.

Hermione did as she was bidden and settled onto the bench. Snape put on his glasses, which he perched on the end of his long nose, and drew nearer to her. He extended his own hand, palm facing upward, presumably waiting for Hermione to set her own there, but she hesitated, still cradling it against her chest. She told herself to not be such a baby and rested her hand in his.

As someone with a lot of experience being around doctors, she knew it was a prerequisite for all of them to have unusually cold hands. But to her immense surprise, when Snape’s hands met her own, all she could feel was warmth. It was also at odds with his otherwise cold disposition. Moreover, he was cradling her hand just as gently as she had been doing. It was amazing at all that she could feel his warmth, since his touch was gentle and ghostlike against her skin.

Snape tapped the edge of his glasses, setting them to x-ray mode, and began to examine her hand in earnest. He turned it over once, then twice. But Hermione was not looking at her hand, choosing to instead focus on his face. He was wearing a most pensive expression and his usual hardness had melted away.

“It’s definitely broken,” Officer Snape concluded, removing his hands. Hermione took it back and could see the beginning of what was sure to be some serious bruising.

“In which bones, sir? If you don’t mind me asking,” Hermione asked, not only because she was interested, but also to cover up the fact that she had been staring at him for the second time that day.

“Pardon me. I’m not used to treating people with our expertise; enforcers don’t normally have a working knowledge of human autonomy, beyond places to fatally wound an opponent, of course. Multiple fractures in the second, third, and fourth metacarpals.” 

Hermione nodded. That was good. Fractures in those bones should be an easy fix. “How did you even do this? You were still strapped in and reading when I had left. Did you get into a fight with Longbottom? I won’t report you if he had it coming,” he joked.

Beyond the obvious dig at her insistence to follow the rules, this joking tone also surprised Hermione. Where was the sour man from earlier?

“It’s embarrassing really. I was helping Private Longbottom look for something and… I got my hand stuck in the hydraulic door.” She left out the part about Weasley being the one to do it. As much as she did not like the way he had talked to her, she still did not want to get him in trouble. After all, he had not intentionally broken her hand. 

Snape, surprisingly, did not berate her for her foolishness, but, instead, he simply went to the sink, filled up a glass of water and offered it to Hermione, along with a small, blue pill. She recognized the pill as a type of strong, but short-lived analgesic. Hermione, since she only had one working hand, took the pill first and held it in her mouth, before accepting the glass and taking a sip. 

When Hermion had finished, he took the glass of water back from her. He sat back onto his stool and squeezed something from a tube before reaching for her broken hand once more. This time Hermione did flinch at his touch, since his hand was now coated in a cooling gel to prepare her hand for the bone resetter.

Snape brought it over as Hermione sat up straighter on the bench. “I don’t know when this was last used. Let’s hope it still works,” he said with a little laugh. Hermione had not expected such joking from this severe figure, but she was not sure she could appreciate it at this juncture. She would like full use of her hand going forward.

Hermione slid her hand into the sleeve that was meant for all appendages—but could also be expanded for torso—and watched the green lights dance over her hand. With the gel and the pill, she should be fine. But Hermione had also broken her leg once before during an ill-advised tree-climbing phase and her previous experience in the bone resetter had been less than pleasant.

Hermione closed her eyes and braced herself for the fiery discomfort that would sure to occur any moment now. She squinted her eyes shut harder, bracing for the pain. Only she never felt it. Was this machine more technically advanced than her parents’? Is that why it didn’t hurt? She opened one eye to steal a peak at the process but all she saw was a frustrated Snape.

“Sorry, one moment. I think it needs to reboot.” Snape continued to fiddle with the operating display. Hermione tried to check the time with some amount of subtlety and decorum.

Hermione sat back up. “May I look at it, sir? I have a little bit of experience with this type of machinery.” Normally she would not be so forward in questioning the actions of a superior officer but the medicine would not last forever and Snape had seemed laid back enough around her, at least in this setting.

“Be my guest,” he said. “Like I said, who knows the last time this has been used.”

Hermione hopped off the bench. She easily found the machine’s settings menu. “Well, it hasn’t received an update in years,” Hermione said. Though she immediately regretted saying that. “Not that I am blaming you, sir. I am just saying that is part of the problem.”

Officer Snape was strangely quiet. She hoped that was not a bad sign. “Do you happen to have a screwdriver in here?” she asked. 

There had been an incident at her parents’ practice, during which their bone resetter had malfunctioned and she watched the hired engineer repair it with rapt interest. The engineer had balked when Hermione insisted on watching him, and her parents had tried to drag her from the room, but she was stubborn and had eventually gotten her way.

She remembered the man removing the control panel and tightening something that had gotten loose and caused the lens of the lasers to not align properly—Hermione had made the engineer tell her what he was doing, much to his chagrin. She wondered if that was not the problem they were currently having. It couldn’t hurt to look.

Snape returned to her side, dropping the screwdriver into the open palm of her palm of her left hand. Unfortunately, however, Hermione was right-handed—she knew she should have trained herself to be ambidextrous just for situations like this!—so it was rather difficult for her to pry the control panel off.

“May I help?” came the smooth voice beside her. Hermione had not been aware he was standing so close.

Hermione reluctantly handed over the screwdriver she had just been given so that Snape could continue the job. He had a much easier time of it than she had and gingerly placed the control panel—wires still attached—on top of the machine.

Hermione crouched down, her legs bent at close to a ninety-degree angle—thankful for all the squats she had done in Basic Training—to get a better look inside. The interior of the machine was dark and hard to make out. But before she could even ask Snape to hand her a flashlight, she felt his fingers once more make contact with her palm and then the cold metal of the flashlight.

“Thanks, sir,” she said, clicking the flashlight on and peering inside once more. “You know, we kind of make a good team.”

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. She should not have said that. Why had she said that? What had she just implied? She would be assigned to an officer as her team leader once she boarded the Hogwarts, but she did not mean to imply that she would want to be on _his_ team.

But Snape did not say anything. Maybe he was too polite to turn her down then and there. Maybe he would have her wait until she found out later along with everyone else.

Hermione continued to pass the tiny beam of light from the flashlight, which was supposed to be used for looking in human orifices, along the bits of hardware and wire inside the machine. She was looking for the lens ballast, but it was nowhere in sight.

She had never spent time examining the schematic of a bone resetter but she was fairly certain it was where she thought it was. She also distinctly remembered the engineer being able to easily access it behind the control panel. So why couldn’t she? Was this an older or newer model? Hermione set the screwdriver down on top of the machine. Her hand was starting to hurt again and it was making it hard to concentrate.

“I am sorry. Maybe I can’t do this after all. If you would like a go at it, be my guest.” 

Hermione grimaced, and not just from the throbbing pain. Once more it sounded like she was giving him permission to do something, when it was not in her paygrade to do so.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you looking for?” he asked, seemingly unbothered by her slip-up.

“The one time I had seen this repaired at my parents’ practice, the engineer repositioned the lenses in the ballast. When the lenses are not lined up exactly, the beams of light are not strong enough to set the broken bones.” 

Hermione could have smacked herself. Why was she explaining this to _him_ , of all people? “I’m sorry; I should have realized you would have known this already. I did not mean to imply that you would not already know how a bone resetter worked.”

Officer Snape smirked. “No offense taken; you are clearly very passionate about medicine.”

Hermione nodded and tried not to wince; her hand was really aching now. At this rate, she probably ought to wash the goo off her hand and return to her compartment and wait for them to reach the Hogwarts. But Snape was now looking at the machine himself, so she waited in quiet acceptance.

“And you obviously know more than I do. I’m not even sure why I tried to look in the first place.” Snape took the control panel from on top of the machine and snapped it back into place.

“I don’t mean to insult doctors like your parents,” he said, returning with the bottle of pain pills. “But I do not have as much experience with these machines; most of my experience came from working in the field. It would have been to take a big machine like this on a covert mission. I can probably count on one hand how many times I’ve used one. I’ve set more dislocated shoulders myself, in fact. And I can set your hand now the old-fashioned way but we’re almost there and something tells me you would not be too thrilled about that idea.”

Hermione frowned. She had not complained up until this point and it wasn’t like the pain in her hand wasn’t excruciating. What was he implying? Maybe he had thought it was cowardly for her to want her hand healed under the bone resetter but it would heal a lot faster that way. Suddenly she was not so much of a fan of this more laid-back repartee between them.

“I appreciate the offer, sir, but classes begin immediately tomorrow and I would like the full-use of my dominant hand, sir,” she said, returning to the formality of before. She did not want to encourage whatever had been happening between them. “I hope I did not offend, sir.”

“I understand,” he said. “It was mostly a joke anyway.”

Of course it was, Hermione thought.

He handed her two pills, along with the refilled glass of water. Hermione could tell from the shape and color that these were the longer-lasting variety. At least that meant Snape did not want her to suffer. She gulped both down and waited for the pain to mostly subside before she walked to the sink to very gently wash her hands.

“May I take my leave now, sir?” she asked, standing at attention. It hurt a lot less now that she had a potent amount of painkillers coursing through her veins. “I thank you for your assistance,” she said with a little salute.

“Actually,” he said, checking the time. “I think I’ll come back with you.”

They returned to their seats. The pair of them must have looked quite strange, especially Hermione with her purpling, smashed hand.

“Where were you, Granger?” Private Longbottom asked, while Hermione struggled to buckle herself back into her seat. Sure, her hand did not quite hurt so bad anymore but she still did not want to mess it up further by moving it too much. “Oh my God, what happened to your hand? Are you okay?”

Clearly seeing her struggle, Longbottom stood up and held the bottom buckle for her so she could get the top buckle secured into it. She looked up when she had finished but when she did she saw that it was not, in fact, Longbottom who had helped her but Officer Lupin.

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said with a nod.

But Officer Lupin was not looking at her, but instead glowering at the man sitting next to her.

“Indeed. What happened, Severus? I thought you were in charge of the medbay on this ship and despite having clearly gone to see you, Private Granger’s hand remains unhealed.”

Officer Snape just returned the glower in silence, however. Hermione could tell that the two shared a history, based on their open hostility towards each other, but she was not going to let him get in trouble on her behalf, especially when it was not his fault.

“Permission to speak, sir?” Hermione asked, raising her hand in salute, only this time she did not bother to straighten it.

“Granted, private,” Lupin said with an exasperated sigh, though Hermione knew the exasperation was not aimed at her.

“Officer Snape tried to heal my hand, but the machine was malfunctioning, sir. He offered to do it the old-fashioned way but I told him I wanted it to be healed for your class tomorrow.” Hermione punctuated her response with a smile. Normally she would not dare smile at an officer but this one seemed to like her, which was also why she had gone with flattery.

“And why was the bone resetter broken in the first place?” Officer Lupin asked, the question directed at Snape. He still seemed upset, despite her explanation, which led Hermione to believe that this had more to do than with just her broken hand. Yes, these two definitely had a shared history.

But Snape did not have time to answer as the announcements were coming on, telling everyone to buckle up, and prepare to board the Hogwarts.

Hermione could not believe it. She was finally here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't extremely obvious already, in addition to knowing nothing about medicine, I also know nothing about the military😎
> 
> INJURY WARNING FOR CHAPTER THREE
> 
> Hermione's hand is still broken.

Getting off the shuttle was a slow-going process. They were hardly moving—practically standing—in the corridors. The person behind her had their bag digging into her shoulder. It took all of her willpower not to turn around and snap at them. She stared at the back of the head of the person in front of her, mindful that her own bag was nowhere near them.

Officer Snape and Lupin had long since left the ship—officers had the privilege of disembarking first—but not before Officer Lupin had given her detailed instructions of how to find the medbay. Although, he had referred to it as the “Hospital Wing,” since apparently it took up a whole wing of the ship. But Hermione supposed that made sense since she and others in the medicine concentrations would receive training there.

“You never did say what happened to your hand,” Longbottom said. However, the way he stated it gave Hermione the impression that he did not actually expect an answer from her, leaving Hermione to once again regret how she had been treating him.

“You never did say if you found your toad,” Hermione responded, trying to smooth any latent anger from her voice.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It doesn’t?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Have you stopped to consider if maybe the two are related?”

Longbottom’s face morphed into one of panic. “You broke your hand because of me!?”

“Ah, don’t mention it,” Hermione said, waving her smashed hand as if it was nothing. “All that matters is that you found the toad.”

“I did,” Longbottom said, sounding sheepish. “It was in my bag the whole time.”

Hermione made a face but said nothing. It was lucky for Private Longbottom that the person behind her was the current target of her ire. She wished the line would just hurry up. On top of everything, her hand was beginning to hurt again.

When they finally got off the shuttle and onto the incoming ramp of the loading dock, Hermione saw why it had taken them this long to get this far: everyone and their possessions were being thoroughly scanned. Hermione supposed it was necessary since their enemies could still be out there, but they had also been checked before they got onto the base. Although they had seen neither hide nor hair of the terrorists seen since their leader had been defeated all those years ago.

After she made it through security, Hermione broke off from the group of students walking to the auditorium where they would find out their assignments. Lupin had told her to use his name if anyone stopped her en route. Then he winked and told her that he would speak with her team leader about her missing the ceremony. Hermione was not sure exactly what was meant by the wink, but something told her it was because Lupin was implying that he would be her leader. Hermione did not know how to feel about that.

“Hey,” she heard someone say from behind her. Hermione turned, expecting to see a higher ranking member telling her that she was going in the wrong direction, but instead she saw it was Private Ron Weasley, half-jogging to catch up with her.

“Oh, it’s you,” Hermione said, not stopping or slowing her pace. “Don’t you have to get your assignment?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, if you really must know—I still have to get my hand healed.” Hermione was still walking far ahead of him, so she lifted her hand above her shoulder so he could see the extent of the damage he had wrought.

But to her chagrin, he took that as an invitation to run up beside her. Weasley’s eyes widened when he got a closer look at her hand. “What happened? I thought I left you at the medbay.” Ron paused. “Wait. Was Officer Snape in there?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I fail to see how that is relevant.”

“He’s a sadistic bastard, that’s why.”

“What? No. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hermione thought the “bastard” title might be apt, but he had been nice enough to her when they were alone. “And keep your voice down. I’m not going to get in trouble because of you for the second time today.”

Weasley did as he was told and lowered his voice. “Everyone knows that he is the most miserable of our instructors. He almost failed my oldest brother, Bill.”

“So?” Hermione said. Was that supposed to mean something to her? She did not know who “Bill” was and she did not have any intention of finding out.

“Bill was the perfect recruit; every other teacher adored him. Seems pretty suspicious if you ask me.”

“Maybe he was just a poor student in Snape’s classes. There can be a logical explanation; not everything is a conspiracy, you know.”

“That’s the thing, Granger,” Weasley said, still dutifully trotting beside her. “Everyone—literally everyone—knows that the subject that he really wants to teach is self-defense. That’s why he failed Bill; he doesn’t care to actually teach us!”

Hermione was glad that they had reached the Hospital Wing and she once more had an excuse to stop talking to Private Ron Weasley. Still, Hermione had to wonder if there was a kernel of truth to what he was saying. If Snape did covet Lupin’s job, that would explain the open hostility between them.

“Hey, you didn’t snitch on me, right?” he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s not a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’”

“No, I didn’t snitch on you.” _Honestly. How old were they?_ “Now go get your assignment.”

“Alright,” he said.

_Thank God_ , she thought when he had gone. _At least I won’t be grouped with him_.

* * *

“What!” Hermione said. “I’m with _them_?”

She was currently sitting on a hospital bed, her hand now bandaged and feeling significantly better. The head of the Hospital Wing, Doctor Pomfrey, had patched her up completely. Mercifully she had not asked too many questions about how she had smashed her hand in a door. It had been rather embarrassing. Who smashed their hands in doors? Especially someone who was supposed to be as intelligent and capable as a member of the Andromeda Program.

But she had had more questions about why it had not been healed on the shuttle. Hermione—despite what Weasley had said about Snape not actually liking his job—felt an overwhelming desire to defend the man, so she said that there had not been enough time for him to do anything about it. Though, Hermione had a feeling that Pomfrey, an experienced physician, had known better based on the amount and coloration of her bruises.

And then a woman, more highly decorated than either Officer Snape or Lupin, had come walking in and Hermione had scrambled off the bed and done her most straight-backed salute. The woman had laughed and told Hermione to sit back down and introduced herself as Lieutenant McGonagall. She had explained that she would be Hermione’s team leader and that the other people in her group would be Private Harry Potter and Private Ron Weasley.

“Pardon the rudeness, lieutenant. This is just all so unexpected,” Hermione said, doing an, admittedly, poor job of covering for her mistake.

“Do you know Privates Potter and Weasley?” McGonagall asked. Her high bun seemed to keep her face pulled taut, but she still managed to look amused.

“No. Not really, lieutenant. I’m sorry; I should not be so quick to judge.”

McGonagall chuckled. Apparently Lupin was not the only officer who seemed to lack a sense of solemnity. “I wanted the best of the bunch. The three of you all showed incredible promise in Basic Training. Of course, you were the hardest to get. Two others wanted you on their teams but I used my seniority to sway the captain.”

Hermione nodded. She did not know who the second officer was, but she could guess one was Officer Lupin. She wondered if, perhaps, that was also why it took so long to get on board. The officers needed time to duke it out for their pick of recruits.

“Let’s get you to dinner, Private Granger, so you can meet your team for real.”

Privates Potter and Weasley were eating at one of the long mess tables. As Hermione neared, however, she thought “eating” might be too fine of a word for what they were doing. More accurately, the two of them were shoveling food in their mouths like they had never been fed in their entire lives.

“Potter, Weasley,” McGonagall said, gently pushing Hermione onto an empty spot of bench opposite them. “This is your science specialist, Private Hermione Granger.”

“Hello,” Potter said, with a little wave. “I’m the pilot.” Hermione waved back with her bandaged hand.

“You already know me. I’m Ron, the guns.” He flexed his arms as if to prove his point.

“Pleasure,” Hermione said, trying not to notice the bit of green in his teeth.

“I’ll leave you three to get acquainted. But I expect you all to be in bed, lights out at curfew, because I also expect you at dawn—or a close approximation to dawn—in my office to give you your schedules.”

Hermione saluted McGonagall as soon as she had finished talking, but she saw, out of the corner of her eye, that her teammates were much slower on the uptake. Only when McGonagall had left the mess hall, did Hermione finally put her arm down. There was a great deal of snickering around her when she did.

“You know, it’s not like that here,” Weasley said. Hermione tried to ignore him and scooped a healthy, balanced variety of food onto her plate. “It might have been like that in Basic Training but the officers are much more relaxed on the Hogwarts.”

Hermione scoffed, but said nothing else. She did not want to talk, but instead finish eating, so she could scope out the library before bed.

“Plus, you make the rest of us look bad,” Weasley added.

Hermione frowned. That was not her intention. And if she was making them look bad, that was their own fault for not following protocol themselves. Still, she could not help but remember how even Officer Lupin had laughed at her mannerisms.

“That’s Granger for you,” a voice next to her said. Hermione turned to see that these words had come from Private Longbottom. She had not even realized he was there. But unlike Weasley, he was not derisive at all. “How’s your hand, by the way?”

“What happened to her hand?” someone—a woman, it sounded like—asked.

Hermione looked further down the bench to see a woman indeed looking at her. Like Hermione, her red hair was cut short—once they moved up the ranks they would be allowed to grow it out again—and a veritable constellation of freckles dotted her face. Now that they would be artificial light for the foreseeable future her freckles would likely fade, but they were cute for the time being. Freckles and red hair, she realized, like Private Weasley’s.

The answer to her unasked question came when the redhead offered her hand. “Private Ginevra Weasley, pilot. But you can call me Ginny.” Hermione shook her hand, pleased that her own hand did not hurt. “Yes, Ron is my brother. Unfortunately…”

“Ginny is on my team,” Longbottom explained. “Along with Luna, our enforcer.”

A blonde head appeared behind Ginny’s. This woman had blue eyes that were fixed in a far-away expression. She was the person least-likely to be an enforcer Hermione had ever seen.

“Hello,” she said, dreamily. “I’m Luna Lovegood.”

“Ginny and Luna are a year younger than us,” Longbottom explained. “But they received special dispensation to start early.” Hermione nodded. She was technically almost a year older than the rest of the cohort since she had not joined when she initially wanted to.

“I couldn’t let Ron have all of the fun,” Ginny said. “Besides, as the seventh Weasley this generation, they knew _exactly_ what they were getting into.”

Hermione took a second look at Ginny and Luna. On closer inspection, they were both pretty strong, stronger-looking than Hermione, at least. Although that was not very hard, considering Hermione was still self-conscious about her relatively small build.

“So, what did happen to your hand?” Ginny asked again.

Hermione opened her mouth. She had to think carefully of what to say, wanting to neither implicate Ron nor look like a fool for having it broken it in something so stupid as a pneumatic door.

“I broke it,” Ron said, through a mouthful of food. “But to be fair, I didn’t see her because she was crouched on the ground.”

Well, that secret was it. “Ronald!” Ginny said. “That’s no way to get someone to like you.”

Hermione could feel her cheeks redden at that. She was still embarrassed to have found this oaf of a boy attractive, if only for a moment.

“She was helping me look for something,” Neville added. “And, can I say, it was pretty rude that Snape wouldn’t heal you. Especially since he was sitting in the same compartment as us.”

Hermione wanted to correct Neville and say that that was not what happened at all, but Ginny cut in, “And why am I not surprised? It’s no secret he hates all of the recruits, except maybe those he’s assigned to mentor. Like, we get it that you hate your job, but if you’re not going to do it, can you at least step down so someone who actually enjoys teaching can instruct us?”

“He’ll never step down though, because then he’ll miss his opportunity to take Lupin’s job,” Ron added.

Ginny snorted. “Good luck with that. Everyone knows Lupin is the best self-defense teacher. You don’t get scars like that by being a coward.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that he’s our leader,” Neville said, only to Hermione. “Pretty exciting since he’s probably the second best, after McGonagall, of course.”

“But we’ll be in the same squadron!” Ginny said. “Lupin’s, McGonagall’s, Hagrid’s, and Hooch’s students are all on the red squadron.”

“Does that mean anything in particular?” Hermione asked. She almost did not want to ask; she hated feeling like she was the dumb outsider.

“No,” Ginny said. “It’s just kind of an organizational thing. Although—come to think of it—all of my brothers were in the red cohort. Maybe everyone in it is especially brave.” She puffed her chest out a bit at this.

Hermione knew this Ginny girl was joking but she could not help but feel out of place, like she was not meant to be in the red cohort. Hermione was a lot of things, but brave was not one of them. She might have stuck up to her parents when she had insisted that she enlist but that had been out of a selfish desire to get off the planet rather than out of a sense of courageousness.

After dinner, Ginny and Luna were going to go with Hermione to the bunks so they could all get situated and maybe shower before bed. But Hermione told them she needed to go to the library first and that they should go on without her; she would have to find the women’s dormitory herself.

Ginny shrugged and told her to suit herself, as the two of them walked off in the opposite direction. Hermione hoped she had not hurt Ginny’s and Luna’s feelings too badly, but not only had she not joined up to make friends, Hermione had been meaning to go to the library anyway. Something was still bothering her and she intended to get to the bottom of it.

She followed the signs posted at every intersection of the ship to get to the library. One thing that caught her particular attention was the arrow pointing to the indoor running track. She had started running religiously in Basic Training and she was not about to give that up now, mandatory or not. Now that she knew that she had the best advisor, there was no way she was not going to work her butt off to get stronger.

After a few twists and turns Hermione found the library, which, to be honest, was not as big as Hermione would have preferred. On Earth, her neighborhood library—since she came from a relatively wealthy part of the world—actually had had physical books. But since saving on space and weight were paramount on the Hogwarts, the library only consisted of a group of information terminals. Hermione sat down at the one closest to the door.

The library was totally empty, except for a pinch-faced librarian, who was pointedly not looking at Hermione as she walked in. But that was fine for Hermione. She did not need any help using the information terminals anyway. She had practically been raised by the ones at her own local library.

Navigating to the databases, she found the one that contained engineering schematics and then found the subsection for medical devices. She located her quarry and pulled it up on the screen. A 3D model appeared, which Hermione rotated and zoomed in on till she found what she was looking for—the ballast for the lenses. It was right where she had remembered it being. So why had she not seen it on the bone resetter on the shuttle?

“Doing a little before-bed reading?” a cool voice said.

Hermione whirled around in her chair. Snape had seemingly appeared out of thin air beside her. He was no longer looking at her but had his gaze fixed on his own terminal. Odd, to say the least.

“I was just curious,” Hermione said. “The idea has been bothering me since the shuttle. It’s not like I don’t trust you, sir.”

With that, Snape finally allowed her the privilege of looking him in the eye. He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me, hm?” he asked.

“No. I specifically said the opposite of that,” Hermione said, with no small amount of indignation.

“Sh!” someone—apparently the pinched-face librarian—hissed.

Hermione was a firm believer in the sanctity of a quiet library but who were she and Snape bothering? The librarian herself?

“What happened to ‘sir?’” he asked.

_Wonderful. Now he was making fun of her too._

Hermione was not going to sit around and be simultaneously mocked and shushed. She had not finished looking at the schematic but she had been able to download a copy for her own personal tablet.

“If I may be excused, sir, I have to be up early tomorrow and I’ve already found what I’ve been looking for, sir.”

That earned her another shushing from the librarian. Hermione made a concerted effort not to look at the woman.

“I don’t know why you think you have my permission to go anywhere. By all means, leave.”

“Thank you, sir” Hermione said, with a little bow. She was doing it to mock him, but she was beyond caring about getting in trouble. Especially since he also seemed to find formalities extremely silly.

“Shh!”

“And sorry for disturbing your peace, ma’am,” Hermione said before stalking out.


	4. Chapter 4

The soft vibrating of her wrist roused Hermione from a deep sleep. She had a keen desire to silence the alarm and go back to sleep but she forced her eyes open. The room was still dark and her bunkmates were not stirring. The artificial lights would probably not begin their slow brightening until at least another hour.

She threw off her scratchy, standard-issue blanket and climbed down the ladder as quietly as she could. And she had done a good job of it, until she reached the final rung, which creaked loudly. Luckily for her, however, Ginny had taken that opportunity to snore and roll over, thereby masking Hermione’s noisy descent.

Hermione ducked under her bunk to stand before her clothes chest. The night before she had had the foresight to set out her running clothes, which she removed from the top of the chest, without so much as a peep from a noisy drawer.

She slid off her standard-issue sleep bottoms—even their pajamas were uniform—and into her running shorts. Hermione had become significantly less modest since enlisting but she was also thankful to have moments like this, when she did not have to worry about her shipmates catching sight of the Australia-shaped birthmark on her left buttock.

Hermione lifted the hem of her pajama top over her head. She took her heavy-duty sports bra and rested the straps over her shoulders like a vest before securing the two clasps in the front and zipping up everything inside. With this brassiere, her breasts were going nowhere, even in zero-g.

Her feet clad only in socks, Hermione took her running shoes in hand and crept out of the dormitory.

To her not complete surprise, there was no one else awake at this hour—at least, in the hallways between the bunkhouse and the gym. There was probably someone, somewhere in a control room, monitoring the ship. Hermione had a sudden urge to wave at a nearby camera, but restrained herself.

She stopped to crouch down and put on her shoes. The previous day Hermione had asked McGonagall if they were allowed to be out of the dormitories at this hour. The lieutenant had told her that it was permitted but no one did, unless they had to be on watch. 

When Hermione had explained that she would like to use that time to run, McGonagall had also given her a funny look. Hermione, however, was used to receiving such looks; she was always saying the wrong thing. This time she assumed it was because, as a science specialist, she should not concern herself so much with physical fitness. 

But when Hermione had started running during Basic Training, she was surprised to find that she actually liked the sensation of her legs pumping, her lungs burning. It felt good to do something that didn’t require her to think, only for her to keep breathing. Running helped calm her racing thoughts to only focus on inhaling and exhaling and was a necessary balm whenever she got anxious.

Following the signs she had seen the day before, Hermione reached the indoor track, which wound its way around a huge support beam. On Earth, she was used to tracks having nothing in the center, but this layout made sense on a ship where space was at a premium.

She selected some of her favorite running music on her wristband. It was not to her usual taste, but the songs all had the necessary beats-per-minute to keep her pace consistent.

Hermione completed one loop around the track and checked her watch. Her time per mile was below average but her heart rate looked good. She continued on her second loop, focusing on her feet hitting the ground and her heart pumping blood.

“Are you following me?” a voice said from behind her. Hermione nearly had a heart attack. She was deep into her running trance and had not noticed anyone else on the track with her. 

Hermione paused her music but did not slow her pace. Soon enough, there was someone running beside her. They were tall and lanky and wearing a T-shirt and running shorts. She might not have recognized him at first if not for his distinctive profile. _Snape_.

She laughed nervously but it came out like a cough. Did he really expect to have a conversation with her? She had definitely improved at running but she was going too fast to talk easily.

“No, sir,” she said, trying to be polite but also trying to show that she was not exactly in the mood for complete sentences. “Didn’t know.”

Snape laughed. “Only joking, Granger. And I can see you’re having a rough go of it so I’ll leave you be.”

Hermione could not even respond as he sped ahead of her.

Hermione was not “having a rough go of it.” This was not her top speed. She was just not used to talking while running! And she had certainly not expected anyone else to be here at this hour based on McGonagall’s comments.

Hermione watched him disappear around the bend. Why the need to show off? And to her, of all people? She was just a stupid little private anyway. Whatever his reasoning was, she hoped he felt good about himself. If anything, now she knew just how prideful he was. Maybe, if she was lucky, he would trip and fall on his face. Pride goeth before a fall, and all that.

Then she could hear footsteps behind her. Soon, he was going to lap Hermione. She wanted to yell, “We get it! You’re fast,” but all she did was turn up her music louder.

Was he goading her into going faster? Well, that wasn’t going to work. She kept meticulous records of her running speeds. If she wanted to run for the full thirty minutes like she had planned for, then she would need to keep at this current pace.

Hermione checked her wrist. She still had at least twenty minutes left of this nonsense. Still, Hermione was resolved to not let it get the better of her, especially since that’s probably what he wanted.

 _Stupid Snape. Stupid Snape and his hatred for this place_.

She could not imagine staying somewhere unhappily and polluting it with your unhappiness. It was the height of rudeness. The thought of it just made her angry.

Hermione completed another lap. She looked at her wrist. Despite her attempts not to, she was going faster now. Maybe it was because she was angry or maybe it was because subconsciously she wanted to catch up to him. Whatever it was, she hoped she could keep up at this rate.

She certainly had not anticipated running this well on the space station. Before her arrival, she had been reading about the ship and learned that while the air was supposed to mimic the atmosphere of Earth, sometimes the ratio was not 100% correct which could cause dizziness and fatigue in certain sensitive people. But maybe today the oxygen level was a bit higher which allowed her to perform better.

But she had no such luck and eventually, after a couple of laps, Hermione felt herself slow and her agility wane.

 _Stupid Snape. Stupid Snape. Stupid Snape_.

Still, she pushed through. Even if she would not finish strong, she would still finish. And she would show Snape that he did not bother her, not in the slightest.

And maybe if she was lucky, he would grow tired soon and leave her in peace.

But once again, Hermione was out of luck. Snape continued to lap her. Every time he did, she stared daggers into his back. Stupid Snape and his stupid shorts. Honestly, it was borderline antagonistic. They were _so_ short. What was he trying to accomplish with them?

Well, she knew those types of shorts had once been popular, when Snape would have been younger, but honestly who doesn’t buy new shorts after a couple of decades? It was not like they were not paying him well.

Was this his game? Distracting her with these shorts? It was downright diabolical. Hoping to throw her off her game so she would not run as fast?

 _Wait_ , she thought. Hermione had to stop. Well, not literally. She could not stop running; she had to maintain her pace, after all. No, she had to stop her train of thought. First he had accused her of stalking him and here she was concocting this entire story as to why he was there. Could it not be that they both liked to run in the morning?

Well, as likely as that was, that also meant she would be seeing him every morning. _Why, God? Why?_

Hermione’s alarm went off in her ears which meant she was done with her thirty minutes. She was hot, sweating profusely through her shirt—boob sweat and back sweat—her face was probably red, and she was panting. She knew now this would be the time that Snape would come to her and try to talk.

She took deep breaths, desperate to introduce as much oxygen back into her bloodstream as possible, but still Snape had yet to appear. Hermione looked around the room, but she appeared alone. He must have left already, wanting to avoid an awkward situation, just as she had.

Hermione returned to the dormitory to see a couple of people waking up. Hermione tried to remember exactly where her bunk was and grabbed her shower caddy, a towel, and a clean uniform. She still had to be quiet as she walked by Ginny—snoring loudly—and Luna, who was also snoring, but much more softly.

She had grown used to communal showering in Basic Training but that did not mean she still enjoyed it. Hermione undressed in a hurry, flashed her wrist in front of the sensor, and stood under the shower head. The cold water against her hot body sent an unpleasant jolt through her heart but new recruits were only allowed one shower per day and she had to make the most of the time she was given.

But now that her hair was very short, it was much easier to wash, allowing her to spend more time washing the rest of her body. Her hair also did not take as long to dry and definitely did not need as much styling as it had done in the past. So, Hermione was not altogether displeased with this change in her appearance.

Her parents, however, had expressed their immediate discomfort with her new look. Well, they had not said anything in so many words, but her father had made a shocked noise and her mother had told her that it was such a shame that her beautiful curls had to be cut so that she could fit in with the “masculine hegemony” of the program.

Hermione turned off the shower and grabbed her towel. She did not know what her mother was talking about with this “masculine hegemony” stuff. She must have been confused with other branches of the military, because the Andromeda Program was a good mix of all genders.

She padded over to her bunk in her shower sandals—there was still foot fungus in space unfortunately—her uniform sticking to her skin in places where she had not reached with her towel. She grabbed her socks and slid them up her leg and laced her boots tightly. She was not entirely sure why they had to wear boots even if they were going to be inside the pristine space ship all day but she was not the type to ask these sorts of questions.

Hermione looked around the room. Despite the fact that she had gone for a run and showered already, some of her bunkmates were still sleeping, including Ginny. But Luna was now up and watering a plant. She looked at Hermione with her big blue eyes and smiled before returning to the task at hand.

She checked the time on her wrist. Hermione was early, but not too early. In Basic Training Hermione had been reprimanded for showing up too early, so now she made a concerted effort to be exactly on time. She still did not know exactly where her classrooms were, maybe if she slowed her steps, everything would work out .

She had forgone breakfast in the dining hall to run and shower and was supplanting her meal with a nutrition bar, which she chewed with relish. Hermione checked her schedule. First class was xenobotany, a class she only had with other science students. That also meant Neville would be there. 

She still was not sure what to make of him or her other new “friends,” if they could even be called that. They all seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her more, which was surprising. Up until this point, classmates had only regarded her warily, so she was not sure how to continue. And surely, once they had gotten to know her better, they would realize that she was not a good friend to have.

“Hello,” a cool voice said from behind her. 

_What was with people on this damn ship talking to her when she wasn’t looking?_ she thought. Or maybe this person was not talking to her. She did not recognize the voice, so it was entirely possible that they meant the greeting for someone else.

“ _Granger_ ,” the voice said again.

Hermione turned slowly, preparing her hand on the off-chance it was an officer, but the man walking towards her was wearing an undecorated uniform similar to her own, so she kept her hand down by her side. And then she realized she did not recognize him. Ought she have recognized him? No, she had only been introduced to Ron, Harry, Neville, Ginny, and Luna. And she would have remembered a towheaded, snub-nosed man like him.

“Hello?” she said tentatively.

“Private Malfoy,” the man said, offering a hand. Hermione took the hand but still regarded the man warily. “I’m so pleased to have finally met the famous Private Granger.”

Hermione grimaced. “I would not say I am famous…”

“Nonsense. Everybody is talking about you. And how you broke your hand in a fight on the shuttle—” Hermione opened her mouth to protest that that was not how it had happened at all but this Malfoy guy continued, “—and how my mentor would not heal it to teach you a lesson about not getting into fights.”

She was not sure what was worse: this rumor about how she broke her hand or the actual method in which she had broken her hand. Then Hermione realized what possessive pronoun Malfoy had used.

“ _Your_ mentor? Officer Snape is _your_ mentor?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said with a sneer. “Is that some sort of a surprise or something?”

“No,” Hermione said, quickly, “I just didn’t know who he ended up choosing. That’s all.”

“Are you jealous, Granger?” Malfoy asked.

Hermione scoffed. “No.” And that was the truth, given the odd way Snape had been treating her.

It was then that Neville decided to walk down the hall. He ignored Malfoy and waved, “Hello, Hermione.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Private Malfoy,” Hermione said, walking away with Neville. Malfoy looked positively miffed that she had not deigned to continue talking to him, but it was not as if she wanted to be late for her first class either.

She and Neville walked the rest of the way to class together. Neville was chatting amicably beside her about the dormitories and how uncomfortable his bed was and how difficult it had been to sleep with all of the noise. Hermione nodded politely as he talked, but she could not help but think what about Malfoy could have possibly made Snape want to choose _him_.

They stopped in front of an open door. Neville motioned for her to go inside in front of him. Hermione did as she was bidden and was surprised to see that Malfoy was already in there, slouching and looking bored at his desk. Hermione took a seat at a desk at the front of the room, with Neville following suit beside her.

She felt something tug on her hand. Hermione looked down to see Neville had reached for it. Her cheeks grew hot in an instant. “Wow, your hand looks a lot better,” he said, releasing his grip.

Hermione drew her hand closer to herself. “Yes, the miracles of modern medicine,” she said, feeling unsure about Neville’s gesture. 

Neville laughed. “I’m aware of that. I’ve just never seen an injury get that bad before. Usually it’s treated before it reaches that point.”

“Yes…” Hermione said. “Unfortunately that is about to become our realities. If we are out on missions on uninhabited planets without all of the necessary supplies, we are about to start seeing more of that.” Snape had made that abundantly clear when he told her how many dislocated shoulders he had manually relocated.

Neville nodded, but they could not continue their conversation as Officer—Hermione checked her schedule— _Sprout_ stepped into the classroom. She was a short woman with short, gray, curly hair but she carried herself well, giving Hermione the impression that she could respect this woman.

There was the sound of shuffling and chairs scraping against the floor as everyone straightened up in their seats. Normally Hermione would have expected to stand and salute an officer coming into the room, but since none of her other classmates were, Hermione remained seated.

But when Officer Sprout called roll, Hermione did salute for “Granger, Hermione,” everyone else be damned. And, if Hermione was not mistaken, Sprout took a second look at her. But whether this was a good or bad look, Hermione could not decipher. 

She finished attendance and turned to the board. The screen lit up with the title slide of her presentation. At first, the projection covered half of Sprout’s face but she soon slid out of the way.

“Now, students, can anyone tell me why it’s called ‘xenobotany?’” Hermione’s hand shot up straight in the air. “Yes, Private Granger?” Sprout replied.

“The word xenobotany comes from the Ancient Greek word _xénos_ , meaning ‘stranger’ or ‘foreign,’ and _botánē_ , meaning ‘herb’ or ‘pasture.’ Thus the study of foreign plant life.”

The etymology was not so simple as Hermione’s explanation had made it out to be but she had learned, from both teacher and classmate alike, that brevity was always preferred.

“Very good, Private Granger,” Sprout said, grinning broadly. “What differentiates a plant from an animal or a fungus?”

Hermione’s hand was once more air in the hand and not wavering. She had perfected holding her arm straight throughout her years of schooling. “A plant is a multicellular organism, whose cells contain a cell wall—made from cellulose—as well as chloroplasts.”

“Very good again, Private Granger. So, what about when we find a new organism on a novel planet? How do we classify then?”

“Well, we look at its parts and go from there,” Hermione said, before realizing that she had spoken out of turn. She had been so caught up in the dialogue with Officer Sprout that she had not realized she had not been given permission to speak. “Pardon me, Officer Sprout,” she said, looking at her desk, hoping to look sufficiently conciliatory.

“Don't sweat it,” Sprout said, before continuing, “Let’s say we find this organism that we think might be like an Earth plant. But when we take a sample and put it under a microscope to look for cell walls and such, we can’t find anything we would even recognize as cells. How do we classify it then?”

“Well, how long have we been observing it for? Maybe we were mistaken in thinking it was alive.”

“And what if it does exemplify the characteristics of a living organism? It grows, reproduces, and excretes waste. What then?”

Hermione paused. “I don’t know, ma’am. I suppose further research would be required. Perhaps we would have to broaden our ideas of what life looked like.”

Sprout clapped and pointed at Hermione, which, embarrassingly enough, startled Hermione. She hoped no one saw her nearly jump out of her seat. “That is exactly it, Private Granger. And that’s what we have had to do. 

“Many of the organisms we encounter on planets are so vastly different to what we have on Earth, that we cannot easily apply our Earth taxonomy to those life forms. So, I ask again, why is it called xenobotany if what we are finding are not even—by Earth standards —recognizably plants?”

“Because it is a useful shorthand.” Neville’s voice quavered but Hermione could otherwise detect a note of confidence there. Hermione might have been surprised until she remembered that he had said on the shuttle that xenobotany was to be his specialization.

“Correct,” Sprout said. Then, looking down at her list of students, she added, “Private Longbottom.”

Professor Sprout began going through the slide deck. Hermione grabbed her stylus and began fastidiously taking notes.

“And don’t worry, Private Granger,” Sprout said. “I will send these slides to you all after class.”

Hermione nodded but could feel the tips of her ears turn hot. She had been hunched over her desk, so engrossed in her own work, that she had not realized her classmates were not doing the same. Still, she kept taking notes, at least more discreetly.

The ship’s internal timekeeping system rang, indicating their time was up. Officer Sprout dismissed them. Hermione stood up abruptly and wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible and get to her next class as soon as possible.

“So, what’s next?” she heard from behind her. Hermione knew Neville’s voice well now.

“Xenolinguistics and xenozoology,” Hermione said, flatly. Were they walking together again? Was this becoming a pattern with him?

“That’s a lot of xenos, isn’t it?” Neville said.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Didn’t you hear me in class? It makes sense for a job where we are exploring the unknown universe.”

Neville laughed and said, “I know. Just joking, Hermione.”

And so, the two of them walked to their next class. In fact, they walked together to every subsequent class. Hermione did not know if she should be happy that she and Neville were most likely on their way to becoming friends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warnings. I would like to reiterate that I don't know anything about medicine. And I also want to share this fanart foxyx so kindly made, which can be found [here](https://foxyloves.tumblr.com/post/626641106393792512/stupid-snape-and-his-stupid-shorts).

After their fourth class of the day, astrogeology, it was finally time for lunch. At this point Hermione had given up on the idea that she and Neville would not become friends. He spent the entire walk to the mess hall chatting excitedly about all they had learned that day, what they were going to learn in the future, and about which teachers he thought would be the hard-asses and which would be more lenient.

Hermione was content to just let Neville just ramble, but she did chime in occasionally, especially where their teachers were concerned. She liked them all, especially Sinistra, who was their instructor for astrogeology. Neville had her pegged as a hard-ass. Admittedly that was what Hermione liked most about her.

In the mess hall, they were waved over by Ginny, who was already sitting beside Luna. Hermione wondered briefly if she should try to find Potter and Weasley. But when she did not see them after a cursory scan of the room, she decided to just sit with Neville’s team.

“How were your first classes?” Ginny asked both of them, shoving a forkful of reconstituted lettuce into her mouth. “Did you learn all the cool science stuff?”

That was enough of an invitation for Neville to launch into the same spiel he had given Hermione on their journey over. So, Hermione thought this would be an excellent opportunity to review all that happened this morning and tune out the conversation happening around her. However, when she heard her name, she snapped back to attention. 

She looked among her new friends. Ginny and Neville were looking at her expectantly while Luna had that zoned-out expression on her face. 

“Sorry, what was the question?” Hermione asked sheepishly. She had covered her salad in dressing to mask the taste and was currently trying not to dribble any down her chin.

“What is your favorite class so far?” Ginny asked again.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “I don’t know. They all had their merits. Sprout was a good lecturer, Hagrid was enthusiastic, Sinistra seemed incredibly knowledgeable, and Babbling… lives up to her name. But I definitely think my favorite class and teacher will be later today when we have field medicine.”

Everyone looked at her then, including Luna, whom Hermione had not even thought was paying attention. “You do know who teaches those classes, don’t you?”

Hermione, admittedly, did not.

“Snape!” Ginny said in an emphatic whisper. Hermione resisted the urge to look around. Normally she was the only one who was worried about being overheard. Was Snape in the vicinity?

“No, that’s not possible,” Hermione said. “He told me he taught pharmacology.”

“He might _specialize_ in pharmacology, but I can assure he teaches the other classes as well.”

Hermione supposed that Ginny did have a point. What did Hermione know anyway?

“Really? Doctor Pomfrey doesn’t teach anything? Not even field medicine?” But even as she asked this, Hermione realized it was a long shot. This was the man who had bragged about his skill at relocating shoulders.

Ginny shook her head emphatically. “No, definitely not. She’s too busy treating people to teach a class. That’s why we are stuck with Snape.”

“Hang on. So, you guys _also_ have to take field medicine?” Hermione asked.

Luna and Ginny nodded. “It’s one of those mandatory-for-everyone courses,” Ginny explained. “You both have it immediately after this, right?”

This time it was Neville and Hermione’s turn to nod.

“I’ve already had a few classes in that lecture hall,” Luna added in her dream-like voice. “I can show you guys, if you would like.”

When the four of them finished their rather sad salads, they walked, not in the direction of Hermione’s other classrooms, but to a large, empty room without desks or chairs. There were already a ton of recruits milling about and chatting, including Malfoy, who was standing next to a tall, handsome—if not aloof—man and a pretty woman whose sour expression rivaled that of Malfoy’s. Malfoy turned then, seemingly to look straight at Hermione, but she shifted her attention elsewhere, embarrassed for potentially having been caught staring.

“Hermione! Hello?” a male voice called to her. Hermione turned to see that Private Weasley was waving at her, next to a miserable-looking Private Potter.

Hermione figured it would probably look bad if she did not join them so she waved goodbye to her friends to finally join her team.

“Why didn’t you eat with us at all today?” Weasley asked when Hermione reached them. “Too good for us?”

“That’s not it all!” she said, resisting the urge to scoff. “I didn’t have breakfast in the mess hall and I was with your sister’s team at lunch. I looked but I couldn’t find you guys.” Hermione did not feel too bad saying that; it was only a small lie.

“Because you wanted to sit with my sister or because you wanted to sit with _Longbottom_?”

Hermione was taken aback by the brusqueness of Weasley’s question. At first, she did not want to acknowledge this nonsense with a response. Despite only having known Neville for a day, she knew what Weasley was implying. But if Weasley thought this, she had to wonder who else was entertaining the idea. Hermione knew she had to nip it in the bud.

“Neville and I have the same schedule together; we’re friends. We’re not allowed to have romantic relationships and I would hate to be reprimanded or worse, _dishonorably_ _discharged_ , over rumors. And I’m sure you two would hate to lose your scientist.”

Weasley put her hands in a defensive gesture, before saying, “Alright.” And then he said much more quietly, “That’s not what it looks like though.”

If Snape had not chosen that moment to enter the room, Hermione might have started a fight with Weasley. She turned her attention to Snape at the front of the room, who was standing ramrod straight, which his hands clasped behind his back. He looked formidable in his pressed uniform but all Hermione could do was imagine him in his tiny running shorts. She was standing at attention but had to suppress a grin.

“At ease,” he said. But unlike the other teachers, he did not bother to call roll. Hermione knew attendance was demanded rather than expected for the recruits and the instructors were only doing it now to learn names, so that must have meant Snape had no desire to know their names.

Snape explained that they would be learning how to create splints that day and began detailing the necessary equipment and steps to accomplish that task. Hermione had her tablet and was taking notes, but Weasley and Potter were whispering beside her. Hermione kept giving them dirty looks, but they were either not getting the hint or choosing to ignore her.

“Alright, now you are all going to practice this on your teammates. You’ll find everything you need over there,” he said, pointing to the right-hand wall. Everyone did not immediately get to doing it, so Snape barked, “Now.”

The silence of the room erupted into the sound of shuffling and chatting as individuals from each team walked over to get supplies. Hermione crossed her arms, knowing full well that she would have to be the one to do it because neither Weasley nor Potter had been paying attention. Nevertheless, she waited for either of them to offer.

“I’ll get the stuff,” Hermione said at last, going to join the select few in charge of supplies. It might have been confirmation bias, but she recognized a fair few of these people from her science classes.

“How does it feel to be stuck with the dud team?” a familiar, cool voice asked. _Malfoy_.

“Well, fortunately I am more than capable enough for the three of us.”

Malfoy scoffed but Hermione did not hear whatever witty retort he had prepared because she was walking back to her teammates.

“I’m starting,” Hermione said when she had returned. “Potter, get on the floor.” Potter just looked at her, his mouth slightly agape. “Weren’t you paying attention?” _No, of course he was not._ “Officer Snape said we need to pretend each other’s legs are broken. Now unless you want to stand on one foot, I suggest you sit on the ground.”

“Why are we doing this again? Don’t we have automatic splints?” Weasley asked.

“He has a point,” Potter chimed in. “This is kind of a stupid exercise.”

“Be quiet. You,” she said, pointing to Potter, “are supposed to be in pain. Too much pain to speak. Sit down.”

“Oh, so we don’t have any pain pills either?” Potter replied, directly ignoring her instructions.

“Yes, that’s exactly it. We’re stranded on a remote planet without automatic splints and no pain pills. Now let me focus.”

Potter finally acquiesced Weasley held the two pieces of hard polycarbonate around Potter’s left knee while Hermione began tightly—but not too tightly—wrapping the fabric to hold his leg straight. She completed this all with relative ease and fairly quickly to boot, which she would have liked to attribute to her dedicated note taking. Then again, it was not as if she was a total novice.

Weasley tested the strength of Hermione’s knot, which she knew—with some amount of pride—would hold tight thanks to her summers in the scouts and having earned all of the knot-related badges. Of course, then, her knot would be perfect.

“Excellent work,” Snape said from behind them. Hermione figured that he was walking around checking everyone’s work. She could not help but puff up her chest a little bit at the praise. That was, until Snape added, “Private Weasley.”

He must have seen Weasley pull on the knot and assumed it was all his doing. Hermione wanted to protest that this had been her handiwork and that Weasley had barely done anything, but Officer Snape did not seem the type of man to accept corrections, least of all by her.

“Private Granger, take note and take care to do it as Weasley had.”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a small voice, but he was already gone.

Hermione began unwrapping Potter’s leg and told Weasley it was his turn to sit on the floor. She tried not to let her anger at being so thoroughly dismissed by a superior officer get to her, but it was too late; Weasley had already noticed.

“Disappointed, Hermione?” he asked, a smug grin crossing his features.

“Why?” she asked, beginning the wrap.

“Because I’m the teacher’s pet and you’re not.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled the fabric tighter. Potter yelped in pain, which made Hermione look down and see that she had tied Potter’s finger into her binding. She mumbled an apology before relaxing it a little and freeing his finger.

“Why would you think I would care about something stupid like that?” she said, not looking at Weasley.

“Oh, I don’t know… Maybe it’s the way you look at Snape, like you’re hanging on his every word. Or maybe it’s the way people talk about you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. It also did not escape her notice how quiet Potter was being throughout this discussion.

“Let’s just say you left quite an _impression_ on your science classmates.”

“Too tight, Granger,” Snape said, appearing again. Hermione nearly jumped at his words. Had he heard what Weasley had been saying?

“I thought I told you to follow Weasley’s example,” Snape continued, “not cut off all circulation to his leg. I would expect better from someone who hopes to pursue medicine seriously.”

“Sorry, sir,” she said, trying not to appear too chastened.

After two admonishments, Hermione was ready for class to be over for the day—or maybe the foreseeable future—but unfortunately Potter and Weasley still needed to practice on her. She was not optimistic about their chances of performing this task correctly, since she had been the one to actually do anything before. Maybe Malfoy had been right, maybe she had gotten stuck with the dud team.

She plopped down and let her leg hover in the air, waiting for either of them to begin. In that moment she was immensely grateful for the modest flight suits they made everyone wear. Hermione was still uncertain about whether she wanted these boys touching her but this was part of the exercise and she had to suck it up. Besides, if they were on a team, they were about to get to know each other very, very— _uncomfortably_ , even—well.

Her attention was brought to the fore when she heard Weasley raise his voice and start arguing with Potter. “No, you need to wrap it clockwise!” he practically yelled.

“Why is the direction of wrapping important?” Potter asked.

“I’m not saying I know _why_ , I’m saying I heard Snape say it.”

“And I’m saying, if you don’t remember why it’s important, are you sure that’s what you heard? Maybe you imagined it?”

“Are you saying—” Weasley began, but Hermione cut him off.

“Listen, guys—” But then she saw Snape walking by. Well, if they were so capable of doing it without her then maybe she could let them flounder. And then maybe—just maybe—Snape would see how good she was on her own.

Snape was frowning when Hermione caught his eye. Potter and Weasley were still arguing about whether to start from the bottom—closest to Hermione’s foot—or the top—closer to her hips. Meanwhile Hermione was just smiling to herself. Soon Snape would realize that she had been the genius behind the whole operation, not Weasley.

But instead of a criticism for Weasley or Potter, he looked directly at Hermione and snapped, “Granger, help your teammates!”

Hermione did not know how she was supposed to help when Snape had previously implied that _she_ was the one who needed to learn from Weasley. But she relented and bent over to position Potter’s hands in the right place and correct his technique before doing the same thing for Weasley. It was tedious work—especially when they made such obvious mistakes—but she did it nevertheless while Snape looked on from across the room.

Eventually everyone had performed the task to Snape’s satisfaction and he called them all back to attention. He gave a brief summary of the lesson. He finished with a comment about them all working together because there would come a day when they would have to rely on each other and the sooner they meshed, the easier it would be once they were in the field. Hermione had a sense that the comment had been directed at her.

Snape dismissed the class but added, “Not you, Private Granger.”

If they had been in school Hermione might have expected a chorus of “oohs” but since they were in the military—despite how laid back Ginny might think it was—her classmates mercifully had the sense to not engage in such childish behavior.

Hermione joined Snape at the front of the classroom, prepared for the worst. She stood ramrod straight, but not at full attention since Officer Snape had chastised her for it once before. So, she said nothing and prepared for the dressing-down she was about to receive for not being a “team player.”

But Snape seemed to be playing a game of verbal chicken because he did not say anything either. Why bother keeping her there if he was not going to lecture her and let her go?

“Permission to speak, sir,” she said, adding the salute, just in case he was expecting it. 

But still he said nothing. Hermione did not know if his silence was supposed to be an indication of her rudeness and insubordination or if it was indication that she should start speaking.

_And if Snape was trying to be the most infuriating person ever, mission accomplished._

“It’s just—I have self defense next, sir.” Snape raised an eyebrow in response. Hermione interpreted this as a sign that she should continue. “And I get it; I’m not supposed to be so concerned about how I appear when other people need my help. I should be more focused on the success of my team rather than my own success. And there’s no ‘I’ in team, or whatever.”

 _Shit_. Maybe she should not have said that last part. It sounded more than a little glib to her.

“Well, I’m glad you were able to come to that well-said conclusion _on your own_ , Private Granger, but I think you would benefit from actually getting to know them. Believe it or not, you will need them one day and it’s better to become accustomed to relying on them sooner rather than later.

“And the larger point I wanted to make was: you don’t need to prove yourself to me. This is a class for all students, so it’s adjusted to start at their level. I already know you can do these kinds of things, but can you help your teammates to learn as well?”

That was all well and good, Hermione thought. But she wanted to know why Snape had felt the need to chew her out in front of her teammates if he wanted them to become close. Weasley had derided her for this fact! Still, she held her tongue. Hermione did not understand this man and probably never would.

“You are excused, Private Granger. See you later for anatomy and physiology. You can show off as much as you want then.”

Hermione smiled at his “joke,” despite being deeply offended. She was most certainly not trying to show off to _him_. Who did Snape think he was? Then she added a hurried “yes, sir,” and walked from the room. To her surprise, however, she was not alone in the hallway. Potter and Weasley were loitering there, talking and, apparently, waiting for her.

“How did it go, Hermione?” Potter asked. “Not in too much trouble, I hope?”

Then Potter nudged Weasley who cleared his throat and said, “Um, right, we can speak on your behalf if you need us to.” Potter twirled his hand like he was encouraging Weasley to continue. “You should not have to take the fall for all of us.”

Hermione tucked a non-existent lock of hair behind her ear before she said, “Well, thank you, but that won’t be necessary; I didn’t receive a reprimand.” 

_I only was told I had to befriend you two clowns_ , she thought.

Weasley exhaled noisily. “That’s a relief. I would hate to have to scrub the floors with you.”

Hermione did not know how to respond to that, but gave a little smile anyway. Snape did not realize what he had asked of her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INJURY WARNING  
> chokeholds, getting punched in the face

As it turned out, there were more classes she shared with Potter and Weasley beyond field medicine—like, self-defense, which they were walking to together now. At first, Hermione thought they were walking with her because they were trying to befriend her. And ostensibly that was what they were doing. Except, instead of making an effort to include her in the conversation, they were talking to each other, just in her proximity.

At least, Hermione reasoned, this left her to look out the windows into space. Although she had almost been aboard the Hogwarts an entire day, she had not fully come to terms with the fact that she was no longer on Earth. The realization did put her problems into perspective, at least for a moment.

Then to Hermione’s absolute horror, Officer Lupin had already begun lecturing when the three of them snuck into the back. Snape had made her late, she thought bitterly. It was probably because he hated her almost as much as he hated Lupin.

Deep down she knew her thoughts were now bordering on paranoid, so she brought her attention back to the present. This room, large and open like the field medicine classroom, was more of a gymnasium than a traditional classroom and like a gymnasium, there were mats covering a majority of the floor, presumably so they could practice without injuring themselves.

Luckily they seemed to only have missed the beginning of Lupin’s introduction. He was explaining now that the most important aspect of the class was for them to get up and move, since they did not normally have that opportunity—except for enforcers, of course. But, as Lupin explained with a wink, a little extra practice would not hurt them.

Hermione had wondered why they would be spending relatively so much time learning self-defense, when surely firearms—which she only had on Tuesdays and Thursdays—would be more useful training for her to have. Hermione doubted many beings—human or otherwise—she might encounter out there would be cowed by fists over firepower.

Lupin finished his speech and told them to do a few laps around the room. Hermione was pleased to be leading the pack. She had not been this exemplary in Basic Training but she supposed only the nerds would choose to go to space to explore the unknown recesses of the galaxy, especially since stellar test scores were required to be admitted into the program.

Potter and Weasley were reasonably impressed by her performance too. Hermione told them it was nothing; it was only a matter of necessity for someone like her if she was going to thrive in this world. Potter and Weasley exchanged a glance before giving Hermione a strange look. Still, their praise was a refreshing change from open contempt.

She told them about her morning runs which earned her more incredulous stares. Hermione debated mentioning seeing Snape in his tiny running shorts—the fastest way, after all, to make friends was to bond over a common enemy. The only problem with that idea, however, was that this rumor could very easily be traced back to Hermione and she did not need to do anything more to get on Snape’s shitlist.

Hermione was also pleased that she had gotten sweaty—well, a little sweat was inevitable in these flight suits—because it meant her fitness level was actually improving. And she was happy that her uniform included such a supportive bra. She might be the first person in history to be excited about dampness under her arms and her breasts being squashed against her chest.

Sit-ups, jumping jacks, and burpees were next, which Hermione could also do flawlessly—at least that’s what she would like to think—but the push-ups humbled her. She had found the indoor track, but she apparently still needed to find the weight room.

“Excellent work, privates,” Lupin said, bringing everyone’s attention back to the front of the room. “I can see you’ve maintained some of your endurance from Basic Training. But I’ll check back with you after a couple weeks to see how you’re doing then.” Everyone laughed, including Hermione. Of course, it was her plan to actually get _stronger_.

“Now we’ll break off into groups of two and do some hands-on practice.”

Hermione turned to look at Weasley and Potter, who had already paired off and were smiling at her sheepishly. She did not know why she had even entertained the idea that they would pick her over each other.

Hermione’s next choice would be to find Neville or Luna or Ginny. They would also probably have an odd one out. And while she might have expected Luna and Ginny to have chosen each other, she had not anticipated the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen to approach Neville. Hermione sighed.

She walked to the front of the class where she would have an easier time of being seen by other third-wheelers. Unfortunately this also left her more visible to Lupin, who was now approaching her.

“I’m afraid, Private Granger, that there are an odd number of teams in this section, so, unfortunately, you are stuck with me.”

Hermione nodded. This did not look good for the teacher’s pet label she now apparently possessed, but she supposed it at least put her in a good spot to practice with a pro.

“Of course this also means you’ll be the guinea pig.”

Hermione did not have a chance to respond before Lupin turned away from her. “Class,” he said, projecting his voice, “Private Granger has so graciously agreed to help me demonstrate this move.” He gestured to her like she was his magician’s assistant. 

Then much more quietly, he said. “Alright, Hermione, I’m going to be holding you in a chokehold? Is that okay? It won’t be real though. A _gentle_ hold.”

Hermione nodded again. Lupin looped his arm around her neck and held her against him. “Alright, now how is Private Granger going to get out of this situation?”

Lupin fielded questions while Hermione was held against him. It was not the order that she would have done things, but, still, he was not actually choking her. Hermione was just close enough to smell his soap. This made her second guess if she had put on deodorant that morning. God, she hoped she had not sweated _too much_ during her run.

Her classmates suggested things like biting his hand, stepping on his in-step, or kicking him in the groin. While her classmates had been the picture of seriousness in Snape’s class, that made everyone giggle.

“Those are excellent suggestions, class, but let’s take a closer look at how I am holding Private Granger. Her other hand is free. She could jam me in the eye or punch me in the nose. But if I was holding her like this,” he moved his hand to grab her arm and hold it behind her back, “then how would she get out of it?”

It continued like that for several more minutes with Hermione unable to move and unable to sniff her armpit to see if she had, in fact, put on deodorant today. And the more that Hermione thought about it, the more she wondered how they would actually practice these moves. Wasn’t someone bound to end up with a bloody nose or a black eye?

Hermione, lost in her thoughts, had evidently missed the rest of his lecture because Lupin had stopped speaking. She watched as the rest of her cohort turned to face each other and begin practicing. Now she had to practice with Lupin. Would it be obvious to him that she had not been paying attention? Hermione was mentally kicking herself for not listening when she had been doing so well the rest of the day.

Then again, she thought, she had not spent her other classes in a chokehold.

Lupin relaxed his grip on Hermione, allowing her to spin free. “So, are you ready?” he asked. Hermione nodded and back into his arms she went. She had never been so close to another human—at least not recently—and she realized she probably would not be close with someone else for a long time. 

Hermione had never been a touchy-feely kind of person, but this made her a little sad to think about. Perhaps this was why they told them to get close to their teammates—it was the only sort of intimacy they would be receiving on the Hogwarts.

“Now, you’re going to mime hitting me in the nose, Hermione,” Lupin said. Hermione did as she was asked, but that only earned her a laugh. “You can do it with a bit more force. You don’t have to worry about hurting me.”

So, this time Hermione added a little more oomph to her swing. She was pleased when her fist made contact with Lupin’s face.

_How was that for more force?_ she thought.

But when he released her and without a second word, not offering any sort of praise or feedback on her performance, she knew she must have hit him too hard.

She turned slowly around to see him covering his eye with his hand. Her own hands flew to her mouth. “I am _so_ sorry, sir.” She had hit an _officer_. And not even on the nose like she was supposed to.

“Don’t worry about it, Private Granger,” he said, because apparently people were starting to stare. “It’s all a part of the job.”

She had hit an officer _and_ embarrassed him in front of the class.

He put his hand down and blinked a few times. “I am fine. You would not believe how many times that happens to me. But we have some of the finest doctors aboard and I am sure it won’t even bruise.”

Hermione smiled at him weakly. 

After class, Hermione was found once more by Potter and Weasley.

“Did you nearly have a heart attack? I bet you saw your life flash before your eyes,” Weasley said.

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Did you think he was going to retaliate and murder me for accidentally punching him, or something?” 

She knew some of these officers had a swell head about them, but she had never gotten that impression from Lupin. Snape maybe, but not Lupin. And she still did not think Snape would go so far as to murder her. At least not yet.

“I don’t know what would be something worse than death for the teacher’s pet?” Weasley wondered aloud. “Would it be… ‘dishonorable discharge?’” 

Hermione could tell he was joking at her expense but she let the joke roll off her shoulders. They were becoming friends, after all, and was gentle ribbing not part of that?

“Lupin wouldn’t do that,” Hermione says, confident in her answer, despite not really knowing their instructor. 

Hermione had engineering with McGonagall next, followed by anatomy and physiology with Snape. Hermione had thought eight classes would be fine for her to handle—but the weariness had really started catching up with her by the end of the day. 

She hoped she had the mental and physical wherewithal to continue like this for the next four years, but she did not think she had much of a choice. And soon enough Hermione and her fellow recruits would be given jobs on the ship that they would have to do in addition to their classes. She hoped her assignment would be easy.

Luckily for her exhausted brain, Snape just talked at them for an hour. Even though he had told her that she could impress him in this class, he did not offer her many opportunities to do so. But after her day, she was content to merely exist in the classroom. 

And maybe he was just as tired as she was. They had both woken up early and she did not know how many other classes he had taught that day. In addition to her sections, there were other classes in higher levels Snape had to teach, not to mention whatever other responsibilities he had as an officer.

_Or maybe_ , a small part of her thought, _Snape is just as bad of a teacher as everyone says he is_.

Hermione woke up the next morning, feeling thoroughly unprepared to face the challenges that the day would surely throw at her, but she put on her running clothes anyway. She did, however, have a hunch that Officer Snape would not be joining her on the track that morning. Knowing her routine now, he most likely had found a different time to run.

While Hermione did some lunges, squats, and jumping jacks to warm up, she was surprised to see some movement in her peripheral vision. The music made her runs more enjoyable but if she kept getting snuck up on, it would have to go. At least it activated her fight-or-flight response, which she supposed would help her with the activity she was about to perform.

“Hi,” the body said, coming fully into view. Hermione was relieved to see it was Potter and not Snape. But her relief quickly morphed into confusion.

“Good morning,” Hermione said, unsure of what to make of his appearance.

“Ron should be on his way. He was awake but still in bed when I left.” Hermione blinked at her captain. “He told me we can start without him,” Potter added when Hermione did not move.

“Okay. So, we’re going to run together,” Hermione said, her lilting cadence making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Of course. If we’re going to be a team, we have to work together at the same level. You can’t be leaving us in the dust.”

Hermione cocked her head slightly. “Right. So are you going to warm up or what?”

“Let’s go,” he said, motioning for her to start. “You’ve waited long enough already. No need to dawdle on my account.”

“Alright,” Hermione said. _Your funeral_ , she thought.

Potter started admirably, at least, and kept pace with Hermione for two laps, but he soon told her to go on without him. It was shortly after this request that Weasley joined them. He did not even bother to keep pace with Hermione or acknowledge her. He just sidled up to Potter.

Hermione had been worried that she would have to slow down to go at their pace, but they were apparently content to talk amongst themselves, while Hermione ran laps around them, music filling her ears once more.

Her timer beeped in her ear and Hermione slowed for a cool down stretch. She could hear their footsteps behind her. She congratulated them on a great run and Potter said, “See you later,” before they parted ways.

As Hermione stood under the shower, she wondered if this is what it meant to get to know her team better.

Later that day, Hermione was leaving her xenolinguistics lecture with Neville when she caught sight of Potter and Weasley and a small crowd of women. She recognized the stunning blonde woman who had partnered with Neville yesterday and one of the two, raven-haired women, Private Patil, was in her science classes. And then she noticed that the other raven-haired woman shared Patil’s face. Twins, Hermione realized.

“Oh, yeah, a total freak,” Weasley said, leaning against a support beam. She wondered if Weasley thought that made him look sexy. It did not. “The worst part is that she knows no one likes her and she still acts like that! I mean, can you imagine being so un-self-aware?”

Hermione had already had a sneaking suspicion that Weasley had been talking about her when they approached the group, but the moment their eyes met and she saw the guilty look on his face, there was no doubt in her mind.

Neville, at least, pretended to keep talking to Hermione throughout the whole thing. It did not, however, lessen the sting of everyone’s eyes on her as she passed but they said nothing. Except for Potter.

“Hermione!” he said, hurrying to catch up with her and Neville. But Hermione acted like she could not hear him. If they could pretend to be her friends, she could pretend not to give a shit about them.

After a full day, Hermione went to the library to get a headstart on her mounting pile of assignments that were looming overhead. She was still reeling from Weasley’s comments about her being “a freak that no one liked.” Of course, it was entirely correct and not anything she had not heard before throughout all of her years on Earth, but she had been so certain that she and her team were finally getting along.

But Hermione had been foolish to think that was possible. Even if Potter was willing to work with her, he still did not publicly disagree with Weasley or even tell him to lay off. This told Hermione that he probably secretly agreed with Weasley’s assessment of her.

She had a diagram in front of her for her to label all of the bones in the human skull—something she could practically fill out in her sleep—but she was having a hard time putting stylus to screen. Hermione stared at a pristine, white wall, her mind replaying all of the things she had done to make them hate her. Maybe she should not have shown off that morning on the indoor track. But they had been impressed with her performance in self-defense. Why was this any different?

Hermione continued this spiral further to her first interaction with Weasley. He probably hated her since she rebuffed his advances. But what was she supposed to do? Fall for the guy who had broken her hand and had not even apologized especially when relationships like that were expressly forbidden? She gripped her stylus tighter.

She was gripping the stylus so hard that she nearly snapped it in half when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun in her chair, expecting to see Snape—though she realized after the fact that gentle tapping was not his style—but instead she was met with the high bun and steely gaze behind silver spectacles of Lieutenant McGonagall.

“Private Granger,” she said, not entirely unfriendly. Hermione still stood up and saluted and tried to look sufficiently conciliatory. “At ease, private,” McGonagall said, before casting a look over Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione was tempted to follow her gaze but then she remembered that Pince was probably glaring daggers at both of them, despite—presumably—being ranked much lower than Lieutenant Minerva McGonagall.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Let’s take this to my office.”

Hermione scooped up her tablet and stylus. She wondered if this meant that Weasley had been right. Maybe she would be dishonorably discharged for socking Officer Lupin. Maybe she had been wrong about her earlier assessment of the man.

The long trek to McGonagall’s office was silent and Hermione spent the whole time staring at her feet walking across the immaculate floors. She almost hated that her boots were most definitely marring the tiles that had probably been scrubbed by some recruit just like her.

They reached the office and McGonagall opened the door with her identification band. She gestured for Hermione to go ahead in front of her.

There were three chairs in front of McGonagall’s desk. Hermione took the middle one, naturally. She supposed she would have been sitting in these exact chairs on draft day, if, of course, Weasley had not smashed her hand.

McGonagall took her seat, scooted her seat closer to her desk, and clasped her fingers on top. “Now, where to begin?” she asked, peering at Hermione over her glasses.

Was Hermione supposed to answer? She stayed quiet. Staying quiet was probably her best option in this situation—plausible deniability and all that. Although Lupin’s face might be proof enough to get her kicked out.

“So, am I understanding correctly that you are having trouble getting along with your team?” McGonagall asked, breaking the silence.

Hermione was relieved this was not about the incident in self-defense, but was once more unsure of how to respond. If she answered in the affirmative, she might get a new team. They were still early in the program—maybe she could swap with someone. But, if her reputation preceded her, there was also the chance that no one would want her on their team.

She also realized that if she told the truth, it was likely that she would be assumed to be an uncooperative nuisance. And she definitely did not want to be labeled as difficult, which was a distinct possibility and the last thing Hermione wanted. She wanted— _needed_ —to be seen as the best recruit possible.

“No,” she said, choosing her next words carefully. “That was not my impression.”

McGonagall blinked at her slowly. “Is that so?” Hermione nodded vigorously. “Well, that was not the impression of your classmates and teachers.”

Hermione felt her face get hot. “Oh, how odd,” she said. Hermione was fully aware of how unconvincing she sounded. Maybe she should have anticipated this. How else and why else would McGonagall talk to her about this if multiple people had not come forward?

“Exactly _whose_ impression was that?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t think that’s germane to the conversation at hand.”

_Oh_. “Right. Sorry, ma’am.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Well, going forward, I will make a conscious effort to get along better with them. The team should come first and not my ego.”

Had she not already had this conversation with Snape? So, why did he feel the need to report her to McGonagall? Even though McGonagall had said his name, Hermione was confident it had been him.

“While I admire your can-do attitude, Private Granger, I do not place the blame squarely on you.”

“You don’t?” Hermione asked, barely able to conceal her disbelief.

“No. In my experience, if there is discord in a group, it cannot be placed solely with one person—usually, at least.” Hermione wanted to know _that_ story. She could tell there was a story there. “And you are hardly the first person to experience this.”

“I’m not?”

McGonagall laughed. “No, not at all. Do you really expect young adults to get along as soon as they meet each other.” McGonagall looked thoughtful for a moment. “Come to think of it, I don’t expect the same of adults either. Some full-grown adults, even after years, still don’t get along.”

Hermione knew exactly to whom McGonagall was referring.

“Since we have established that it is not all your fault, is there any way that I or anyone else can do to help you three work together better?”

Hermione smiled widely before shaking her head. “Nothing is coming to mind at the moment, but if I think of something I’ll definitely let you know.”

“Well,” McGonagall said, standing back up, “Private Granger, you are free to go. I hope you have a great rest of your evening.”

Hermione saluted before saying, “The same to you, ma’am.” And walked from the room.

She dropped the smile as soon as she entered the hall, however, and she stewed silently all the way back to the library. Her evening had been ruined for _that_? She checked the time on her wrist. She had to go to sleep soon.

_Fuck this_ , she thought.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING  
> Discussion of parasites, black eyes

“What the hell, Potter?” Hermione practically yelled, walking into the common area. She could see everyone turn to look at her and hear their muffled conversations become silent. But if everyone already thought she was a freak, what was one more outburst?

Potter was sitting on the couch with Weasley, and the gorgeous blonde woman—whose name Hermione still did not know—but he stood up when Hermione had approached, guns blazing. Hermione was once more reminded how much taller he was than her—over six foot—and Hermione’s eyes only reached chin level.

“What? What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Don’t play dumb,” she said, trying to sound more tough than she felt. She crossed her arms, but when that did not feel right, she dropped them down and balled her hands into fists. But that still did not feel right, so she was back to crossing her arms.

But Harry must have been employing the same tactics Hermione had been using in McGonagall’s, because he said nothing.

She sighed audibly. “You, you… _told on me_ to McGonagall.” Her language was juvenile—she could admit as much—but this had been a juvenile response on Potter’s part. “You told her I wasn’t getting along with the group.” Hermione resisted the urge to dig her finger into his chest as she said this.

McGonagall also mentioned that a teacher—most likely Snape—had expressed concern, but she was not about to bang down his door, even if she might want to. Or if she knew where his office was.

“Oh, yeah, that,” Potter said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, yeah, _that_ ,” she said, echoing his words in a mocking tone. “Funny how you conveniently forgot all about that until now.”

Hermione could see Malfoy sitting across the room. A smug smile was curling his lips and he put down his tablet onto a table. _At least he was having a good time_ , Hermione thought. That also meant she was really causing a scene now. Well, she didn’t care.

Potter shrugged. “As the pilot—and _de facto_ leader of our team—it’s important for me to provide updates to Officer McGonagall. She asked how we were doing as a team. It’s as simple as that. Nothing underhanded about it.”

Hermione could feel herself deflating. Had she really made a scene over such a tiny thing? This would not get back to their commanding officers, would it? Once again she was adding to the list of reasons people might consider hard-to-work-with. Maybe she _did_ care about causing a scene.

“Is that all?” he asked, annoyance tinging his question. Potter was annoyed with her? How was that fair? She had been the one to get in trouble.

“Yeah,” she said, trying—and failing—to smooth the anger from her voice, ”if you’re going to get me kicked off the team, I would like a heads up first,” she said, spinning on her heel.

“Hermione, wait!” Harry called after her. “That was not my intention at all. Hermione, come back!”

But Hermione kept walking. Great. Now she would look like the asshole. But she also remembered Weasley sitting next to Potter, saying nothing. Why hadn’t _he_ been talked to for his behavior? He was the one who had been talking shit that morning and he had not been the one called into McGonagall’s office. 

Hermione was not so certain she was the one causing problems in the group anymore. No, now she was sure the blame rested squarely on Potter and Weasley’s shoulders.

The weekend came faster than Hermione could have anticipated, and while she could have slept in later that morning, Hermione had long since learned that varying her sleep schedule too greatly was a recipe for disaster. She was not as tired as she had not been the first day, which was a relief. Perhaps her body was not fully acclimated to living aboard a spaceship.

Hermione walked onto the track and turned her music on from her wristband, confident that no one would be bothering her. After Weasley called her a freak and she had had that embarrassing outburst with Potter, she had never seen them in the morning again. They still saw each other in their other classes like firearms and navigation, but all of their interactions had been icy.

She finished her run, took a cold shower and realized that she still had plenty of time to actually have a hot breakfast in the mess hall. Hermione grabbed a bowl of oatmeal and dumped a healthy amount of nuts and dried fruits on top.

Even though she had the entire hall to herself, Hermione chose to sit at a table in the far corner where she would not be spotted and turned on her tablet to begin reading an essay that was part of an intergalactic relations assignment.

The weekend meant the start of the lectures for their specialization tracks. At this point, she had resigned herself to the idea that Snape would most definitely be teaching hers, but as the previous week had progressed, she and he seemed to have come to an uneasy understanding. She was not openly hostile to Potter and Weasley in field medicine and Snape would occasionally call on her in anatomy and physiology.

She had not seen him on the track again.

But today was also a special day because she had the time to have coffee. It was not the same quality as the stuff she was used to getting on Earth, but with enough non-dairy creamer, Hermione could sufficiently cover the burnt taste. Plus, it still smelled enough like coffee. That was all she needed.

For her specialization, Hermione had to report to the medical bay, which, thankfully for her, she already knew where that was. But even knowing exactly where she had to go, a thin coating of sweat was beginning to form on her palms. She would not only be learning with people from her own cohort; Ginny had also told her she would also be in class with recruits from the year above them. 

Still, Hermione tried to project an air of confidence. She walked into the medical bay and past the beds devoid of patients. The classroom part of the medbay was in the back. She knew that only because she had asked around otherwise she might have been searching for hours.

The rest of the medicine specialists were sitting around a table at the center of the relatively small classroom, looking relaxed. Some were slouched, while others were leaning on their elbows. Their attention was on a curly-haired man who seemed to be telling a story based on the way he was gesticulating and the way her classmates laughed in response.

Hermione took another step into the room, which caught the eye of the curly-haired man. He stopped talking to stare at her. This caused all eyes to turn to her. She looked to each of them in turn, hoping to find a friendly face, but found none.

“Uh, hello,” she said, trying to break the silence. “I’m Private Granger. Nice to meet you,” she added awkwardly.

They continued to stare at her without another word. She was confused. Was she doing this wrong? Had she forgotten some sort of protocol?

The first person to lower himself to talk to her was the curly-haired man with glasses. “Private Weasley, _First Class_ ,” he said, puffing out his chest and practically flashing his insignia.

_Another Weasley?_ she thought. _Jesus Christ, how many were there?_ Although she probably should have known from the red hair. It was not as pronounced as that of Ginny’s or Ron’s—more burnt umber than copper—but nevertheless there.

She thought the rest of them would introduce themselves, but instead Hermione was met with a barrage of questions.

“Is it true that you broke your hand?”

“Is it true that Weasley’s brother broke your hand?”

“Is it true that you broke your hand while punching Weasley’s brother in the face?”

“I can assure you,” Hermione said, trying to sound cool, “that everything you’ve heard about me is false.” She smiled to punctuate this point.

“Is that so?” Percy asked. “So, you are not the most promising member of your cohort, then?”

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. It must be typical of Weasleys—well, Weasley _men_ —to want to be antagonistic towards Hermione.

Luckily for her, however, Snape had chosen this moment to come into the classroom. Everyone stood up from the table and moved their chairs to face the projection board. Unlike other classes, Snape did not bother with introductions nor did he greet them. As usual, he just started right into the lesson.

Hermione had wondered how she was supposed to take lessons with people of such varying ranges of years of training under their belts, but Ginny had explained that the lessons were on a four-year cycle anyway, so, eventually, Hermione would receive the same lessons as everyone else.

Snape told them to go to a certain page in their textbook, which was already loaded on their tablets. Hermione read the chapter header: Identifying Parasites. Hermione squirmed in her seat. Despite having an unusually strong stomach, parasites were one of her biggest icks.

To her surprise, however, Snape did not lecture. He sat down, got out his own tablet, and read on it. Hermione looked around. Everyone else was reading in silence. It was different from her other experiences with Snape. But she just went with it. If she was good at anything, it was reading and retaining that information.

Hermione was right to be worried about the chapter. The picture that greeted her when she opened to page 394 was an ear that clearly had something wrong with it. She tried not to gag.

The rest of the chapter was similarly horrifying with descriptions of inhaled spores destroying your respiratory system or worms that crawled through your orifices, into your brain, and could hijack your motor functions. However, the one thing that the textbook kept reiterating was their space suits were designed to keep them safe from those things.

Still, Hermione hated to think of the people who were not so fortunate. After all, the writers of the textbook would only know about these parasites if they did not have actual accounts of infected explorers. Hermione shuddered to think what had become of them.

When everyone had finished reading, Snape stood up and turned on the projector. They had to go around the room and identify the type of parasite. For the first time in her life, Hermione did not want to be called on, but she had no choice since he was calling on each of them in turn.

“And this one, Private Granger,” Snape said, changing the image.

Hermione stared at the image looking for clues. It was an eye—of course—and iris had become a golden yellow. There was a blue, bruised-looking ring around the socket. Hermione bit her lip, trying to remember the name of this parasite.

Snape, his arms crossed in front of his chest, stared at her, his gaze unflinching. It certainly made it hard for her to remember a name from a list of hundreds, when she had only been able to read the chapter once and he was looking at her like he was waiting for her to fail.

_Yellow iris_ , she thought. _That was in the spore section, wasn’t it?_

“ _Garusi monima_ ,” she said, the name coming to her at last.

But Snape made no acknowledgement of her correct answer and moved to the man sitting next to her.

When her time with Snape was up for the day—they would meet again tomorrow to discuss treatments—she received a ping on her wrist from Ginny, inviting Hermione to join her and Luna in the weight room. Ginny had shown her where it was one evening and she strode there now, trying not too hard to think about her body being invaded by space worms.

Luna was planking when Hermione entered the room, while Ginny leaned against a weight rack. She waved Hermione over and offered to spot her. Hermione agreed, especially since it gave her the opportunity to ask some questions she was dying to know more about.

“So, just how many siblings do you have?” Hermione said, sliding onto the bench.

“Six brothers. I’m the only girl,” Ginny responded. “Why?”

“Well, one of them is in my specialization track,” Hermione said. She wrapped her hands around the barbell. “ And I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment. “Oh, you mean Percy?” The way she said it sounded like she had had to manually go through her list of brothers to determine which Hermione was talking about.

“Yes, _Percy_ ,” she said. “Is everyone in your family determined to hate me? Besides you, of course. 100 pounds please”

“What can I say?” Ginny said, sliding the weights on. “You are not legacy and yet here you are, making a serious impression on everyone.”

“I don’t know if that impression is necessarily a good one.” Hermione lifted the barbell off the bar catchers and did a repetition. It was somewhat difficult, but still probably not as much as Ginny or Luna could bench.

“Psh,” Ginny said. Hermione expected Ginny to say something nice to her, but all she said was, “What’s the saying again? There’s no such thing as bad publicity. Do you really think they’re talking about the _third_ Weasley son? No, but they are talking about the really smart girl who cannot stop punching people.”

Hermione felt herself flush at the compliment. Ginny thought she was intelligent? 

“At least they don’t think I’m in love with Neville. That probably means Ron,” she hated saying his first name, “has not been spreading that rumor.”

“Ron thinks that?” Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged. “He’s said as much. Not that it matters,” she said with a laugh. “Like everything else, you’ll probably tell me they don’t actually enforce the no-relationship rule anyway.” Then she nodded to Luna, who was hitting a punching bag on the opposite end of the room. Hermione had seen the way Ginny and Luna looked at each other when they thought no one was looking.

Ginny’s face turned ashen. “No, they do, Hermione,” she said, dropping the lighthearted grin entirely. “Around the time my parents were just starting out, there was an… incident. They had to break up two teams and swap members. They _never_ do that. The teams are sacred. But the only thing that can break that sanctity are romantic entanglements.”

Hermione’s face fell. “Oh, you’re being serious.”

“Yes, I’m being serious! _Deadly_ serious.”

“Alright!” Hermione said, noticing the scared look in Ginny’s eyes.

It did make sense, she supposed, on some level. If someone cared about one member of their team more than they cared about the mission, then the safety of the whole team could be jeopardized. You were supposed to lay down your life for the cause, not for an individual.

She wiped her sweaty hands on her gym shorts. Hermione was glad that she had not made jokes about her two friends to anyone else. She had not failed to realize that Ginny never denied anything about her and Luna. But as much as she was a stickler for the rules, she would not want her friends to get kicked out of the program. Hermione prayed they would be smart about it though.

But had she better distance herself from Neville? But that was unfair. Sure, he had been a little awkward at first, but he had grown on her. He was clearly knowledgeable about xenobotany and his enthusiasm was endearing. And they still had all of their classes together, so what was she supposed to do?

No, she was not going to change her behavior. Hermione had not actually done anything wrong and if there were any doubts… well, those in charge could interview all of her classmates, except Weasley, of course.

Next week Hermione received her assignment, which, mercifully, was something that played to her strengths and useful to her career prospects: assisting in the medbay. The job was less actual medical work and more administrative tasks but it gave Hermione an opportunity to work with Doctor Pomfrey, who was probably the warmest person aboard the Hogwarts. It was also a boon that Snape was not involved at all.

Hermione was working one evening in the medbay, restocking some shelves, when she heard someone come up behind her. “I’ll be with you in a second,” she said. Hermione could tell it was not Pomfrey—her footfalls were close to silent—and since Pomfrey had excused herself for a moment, it was Hermione’s job to help people.

She turned to see Lupin, his hand over his eye. When he recognized her, he gave her his classic, wolfish grin. “Oh, hello, Officer Lupin,” she said. “Did it happen again?” she asked, hazarding a guess as to what had transpired.

“Private Granger,” he said, his smile broadening. “I didn’t realize you worked here. And yes, it did happen again.”

“Pomfrey’s out, so I’ll have to help you. Unfortunately.” Hermione walked from out behind the desk and to a nearby bed. “You can sit here and I’ll be right back.”

Hermione walked into the storeroom at the back and grabbed a freezing pack and bruise gel. She waved to Private Clearwater who also worked at the medbay on the same days as her and was taking inventory. She held up the freeze pack and the bruise gel for Clearwater’s list.

But when Hermione returned to Lupin, she saw that he was not alone. Snape had his arms crossed and appeared to be having a disagreement with Lupin. At least Hermione thought it was a disagreement. Snape looked miffed but Lupin was smiling.

_Nothing unusual there_ , she thought.

Hermione approached them slowly—she did not want to get in trouble for eavesdropping—but Snape soon caught sight of her. He said something to Lupin that Hermione did not catch, but she assumed it was about her because Lupin then turned to look at her.

“My savior!” Lupin said, his left hand still covering his eye. Hermione expected Snape to leave but he, rather stubbornly, stayed there, his arms still folded over each other.

“Right,” Hermione said, looking between Lupin and Snape. If Lupin wasn’t going to complain about doctor-patient confidentiality, then she supposed it was not a problem. She was, after all, only treating a black-eye.

She approached Lupin and he let down his hand. Hermione had expected discoloration but she was surprised to see swelling too. His eye was so swollen, in fact, that he could barely open it.

“And you sure you just got hit in the face?” Hermione asked. The swelling could be an indication of more serious head trauma.

Lupin shrugged. “That’s what I remember happening.” He laughed. “Maybe I am also a little concussed.” Hermione took a step back to look at him again. He laughed again. “I’m joking. I don’t have a concussion. My vision is fine and I don’t have a headache.”

Hermione unscrewed the cap of the bruise gel, before looking at Snape. Would he be judging her? Did he think she should test Lupin for a concussion, just in case? But Snape was looking everywhere but at her.

She squeezed a generous dollop of the bruise cream onto her finger and gently brushed it around Lupin’s eye. He flinched at first. “Sorry, your hands are cold,” he said. But eventually he stayed still long enough for Hermione to finish spreading it around. Then she handed him the ice pack, which he held over his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at her.

“That’s what they pay me for,” she said. “Well, not _pay_ me. House, clothe, and feed me.”

“And educate you,” Lupin said, smiling even bigger now.

“How could I forget?” Hermione said, mirroring his grin. “Anyway, hold that there for about five minutes. I’ll be back to check on you.”

Hermione meant to go back and continue stocking the shelves but she was stopped when Snape said, “Private Granger, a word, if I may?”

He walked to a corner of the room away from Lupin and the other patients and student workers. Hermione figured this was when he would chastise her for treating Lupin incorrectly, or some other nonsense, but instead he asked her, “How are you doing?”

After Hermione had stopped being stunned at such an unexpected question, she had to figure out what he meant by it. “In what way, sir?” Why was he only nice to her when no one was around?

Snape blinked. “It’s a simple question, Granger. Don’t overthink it.”

“Well, do you mean right now? At my work study? In my studies? With my team?”

Snape looked less amused now. “You do realize that the question ‘How are you doing?’ can encompass all of those things, right?”

Hermione had not intended to get under his skin but she liked it nevertheless. “I only wanted to answer the question completely, sir,” she said, trying to sound innocent. “But since you asked, I am quite well. There haven’t been many people tonight and it is not too taxing.”

“Granger,” Snape said, his eyebrow twitching, “I meant in general. Not how are you doing right at this moment.”

“Well, then you should have specified that, _sir_.” But before Snape could yell at _her_ for wasting _his_ time, Hermione said, “I am doing alright, I suppose. It’s a lot of work so I have to manage my time perfectly.”

She did not intend for that to be a jab at him, but if it worked as one, she did not mind. She did have a job to do and though she would probably not get in trouble for speaking to an officer, she did not want to spend so much time on inane questions like, “How are you?”

“And your team? How are they? Getting along better?”

Hermione shrugged noncommittally. “I guess.” She laughed, a harsh sound. “I’m still myself, so not totally improved.”

Snape cast a sideway glance at Hermione. “I told McGonagall that those boys were not a good fit for you, but she was obsessed with having the team with the highest test scores. I told her to take compatibility into account too.”

Hermione worried she might have whiplash from this change in tone. He had told her the other week that she had to make more of an effort to befriend them. But now he knew they were doomed from the start? What was that about?

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Hermione said. “I will make do with Potter and Weasley.”

Snape ran a hand through his lank, black hair. She could not help but notice his rolled sleeves and the veins in his muscular forearms. He was not unusual, however. Lots of men had arms like that. Hell, even Weasley did.

“Yes, I suppose that’s right,” he said.

“I hate to be rude, sir,” she said. “I have to get back to work, but I appreciate the concern,” she lied.

“Right,” he said. “See you in class tomorrow, Granger.”

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement and returned to Lupin’s side. Hermione had expected Snape to stick around—he had come to visit Lupin after all, hadn’t he?—but he was gone.

“What was that about?” Lupin asked.

Hermione shook her head, taking back the ice pack from Lupin. “No clue,” she said.


	8. Chapter 8

After the days bled into weeks and the weeks turned into months, Hermione was worried that her life about a super high-tech spaceship was becoming mundane. But, one morning, after near-constant work, Hermione’s patience was being rewarded.

The day had started like any other; Hermione woke up early, headed for the track. Only this morning, while she was running, she received an official communications message on her wristband ordering her not to report to her classes but instead to the hangar to meet her team and commanding officer.

Hermione did not have to be there too soon but she cut her jog off short. She had plenty of time but she knew that she would be distracted the rest of the run, stressing about the mission. So, she returned to the bunkhouse, showered, and put on her special, tighter uniform, which would fit underneath her exosuit.

She waved to Ginny and Luna and pointed to her uniform. They knew exactly what it meant, grinning widely and giving her two thumbs up. Hermione let their encouragement buoy her but that feeling of dread still sat in the back of her mind.

 _What if she was not prepared?_ she thought. _No_ , she told herself, _she had prepared for this. She was ready._

Hermione had been to the hangar in the past—as part of a tour of the Hogwarts—and had seen the ships they would be using today. She had also “flown” one many times in simulation in her basic piloting class. Should anything happen to Potter, Weasley, the co-pilot would take over, but in the worst possible scenario Hermione might be able to get them to safety with her rudimentary flying skills.

Older students were milling about in the hangar, refueling ships and doing repairs, but Hermione could see McGonagall already waiting there with a stricken Potter and an antsy Weasley. _How could_ she _be the last one to arrive?_ she wondered.

Then she passed a larger craft and saw that Snape, of all people, was also there, just out of sight.

She saluted McGonagall who had caught sight of Hermione. But McGonagall just waved and smiled warmly. Hermione approached, trying not to look at Snape. He had not tried again to ask her how she was doing but their relationship had not gotten better either. Mostly they seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other unless otherwise necessary.

“Private Granger, you’re early as well! So glad we are all so excited to go on this mission. Well, I’ll let you get strapped in and then debrief you.”

Potter turned to the nearest ship and badged in using his wristband. If Hermione was remembering correctly, the headmaster or deputy headmaster had to approve every unlock of a ship to a pilot ahead of time, so that students could not take ships out for joy rides. 

This particular ship had a gold stripe down the side of it and an identification number of 2000 printed by the tail. Hermione wondered if this would become _their_ ship for missions. She looked around the hangar again. Some ships were stored elsewhere, but that would be a lot of ships to have one for every team.

This particular model of ship was relatively small and meant for one-team missions. It was squat with a hemispherical nose and two wings coming off the back to house the thrusters as well as allowing the ship to be steered.

Hermione watched as the ship’s door opened and the steps lowered, which Potter then ascended, careful to duck his head as he entered. Weasley followed suit, also ducking his head. And when it was Hermione’s turn to board, she slouched a little, but once inside she realized that that had not been necessary at all. Potter and Weasley looked at her but neither cracked any jokes about her seriously misjudging her own height.

The two of them were already strapped into their seats at the front of the ship, from which they had a full view of the window surrounding the cockpit. Meanwhile Hermione had to sit a little behind them, her chair facing an opaque wall. Hermione was not sure why this particular design decision had been made, especially since it seemed unnecessarily mean for people like her.

She put on the headset that was hanging on a peg beside her chair and nestled the headphones over her ears and positioned the mouthpiece closer to her mouth. Potter looked behind at her and showed her a thumbs up, which Hermione mimicked. That was his signal to close the door, which he did with a push off a button above his head.

“Alright. Is everyone ready for takeoff?” McGonagall’s voice asked through their headsets.

“Roger that,” Potter said.

“Private Potter, you may commence take-off procedures. Over.”

“Roger,” Potter said. He began listing off the individual buttons he pressed and giving readings of different gauges on the dashboard. Hermione could see the slight tremor in his hands, hear the hitch in his voice, but she could not imagine why. Potter had had even more training than her up until this point and even Hermione already knew all of the steps by heart. Plus, he had clearly shown an aptitude for this, if, as Snape had claimed, the three of them had the top scores on the entrance exams.

Then again, Hermione herself had been unsure of the mission that morning. Maybe they were all suffering from a case of the nerves.

The ship began to move as it was pulled through the hangar on the track system in the floor. It was taken past the first docking door, followed by the second. Now there was nothing between the ship and the vacuum of space. At least, Hermione assumed that was the case. She could not see anything from her seat and she dared not crane her neck lest she damage it when her head was inevitably whipped back during take-off.

Hermione heard the thrusters come to life beneath her, feeling the gentle vibrations in her body. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind and center herself. Her last journey into hyperspace had been less than pleasurable and she was mentally trying to prepare her body for that.

“Granger, do you copy?” she heard Snape’s voice coming through her headset. Hermione might have fallen out of her seat if she had not been strapped in. So, that was why he had been there—to give her her mission.

“Sir,” she said, trying to remember her script completely. “I copy.”

“Potter and Weasley have the job of getting you there safely but you have the most important job of all.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said into her mic. Was it too close to her face? Was she breathing directly into his ear?

“More details of the mission have been loaded onto your tablet but, in short, we need you to get some soil samples from this planet. You will find the supplies in the back of the ship. It should be a relatively easy first mission but stranger things have happened. Good luck, Granger.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said through the headset. But, based on the lack of static in her ear, she could tell that he had already turned his headset off.

“Prepare for takeoff, Team Gold,” she heard Potter’s voice say now.

The ship gave a precarious lurch forward as it decoupled from the track system and there was a loud noise as Hermione’s body was forced toward the rear of the ship. While Potter and Weasley were thrown against the back of their chairs, Hermione felt her restraints dig into side. Seriously, she had to have a discussion with the manufacturers of these ships.

For a moment it felt like they were in free-fall until the thrusters kicked in and they prepared to enter hyperspace. Once more had the strange feeling of being pulled through a narrow tube by her navel and when she thought she could no longer take the pressure, she felt relief once more.

“Really? Team Gold?” That was Weasley’s voice. She would know it anywhere, based on the way his comments haunted her thoughts. “Is that the best you could come up with?”

“I panicked. I know McGonagall had said we would need a team name and I had forgotten to convene with you guys and come up with one.”

“Private Potter, Private Weasley,” Hermione said. “Need I remind you that every part of this mission will be recorded and reviewed, including everything we say to each other?”

But they just seemed to ignore her. Hermione wanted to scream. Didn’t they know that this reflected poorly on all of them?

“Yeah, but Team Gold? It sounds like we’re at the Olympics,” Weasley said.

“Listen,” Potter said. “That was the color of the ship’s racing stripe. And is it so wrong to want to aim for the gold?”

“Will this ship even be the one we use—” but Hermione was cut off by Weasley.

“If only you had asked me! I had a lot of names in the wings, ready to use.”

“Well, maybe we’ll still have an opportunity to change it,” Potter said.

“Okay, what do you think of Team Maverick?” Weasley offered.

Hermione had to spend the rest of the journey listening to them argue about the merits of different names. It was miserable since Hermione could not turn her headset off so she had to hear all of it. Tuning them out did not work and made reading her briefing even more difficult.

If they had bothered to ask her opinion, she would have told them that their names were exceedingly predictable and they should go for something bolder. Personally she liked the name Team Griffin to fit with the rest of the Greek mythology theming of the Andromeda Program.

She had already read and reread the mission briefing several times before she had begun to daydream when she heard Potter say, “Team Bulldog, prepare for landing.” Hermione wanted to roll her eyes back into her head. _Bulldog?_ Was that really what they were going with now?

Against her better judgment, Hermione raised herself out of her seat to see better the surface of the planet which she had read was named Kronus-6, when she was jostled in her seat by their entrance into the planet’s atmosphere.

“Sorry, Hermione,” she heard Potter say. Oh, so _now_ she existed?

That decision to try to see the planet had not been a good decision because she had moved her neck wrong and now it hurt to turn her head. The pain was not too intense but she would have preferred to have her wits entirely about her for this first mission. She rubbed her neck to try to relax the muscle.

The rest of the descent went a bit smoother but the landing was a bit bumpy, which earned them another apology from Potter. When they touched down and Hermione heard the whine of the breaks. She unbuckled herself and went to the back of the craft where their exosuits would be.

She pulled out the first one and saw the name “Potter” stitched on the front. She handed the suit and helmet to Potter. The next one she grabbed belonged to Weasley which she passed off to him without even a second glance. Finally she had hers, which she slipped on.

The tiny ship made it very difficult for them all to get kitted up in that cramped space. Potter and Weasley both had to stoop and Hermione was hit by errant limbs three times. While she might expect it would have been an accident from Potter, she assumed Weasley had done it on purpose.

A tailor, whose sole job it was to make their suits, had taken Hermione’s measurements and the first time she had put it on—to make sure she knew how to do it—she was surprised just how well the suit fit. Hermione did not care about her appearance too much but even she did not hate how it hung on her. Who would have thought an exosuit could look so good?

Hermione double-checked and triple-checked that her gloves and helmet were locked. Then they all had to check each other’s. Potter checked Weasley so that meant Weasley had to check hers. Hermione was fairly certain she had done everything correctly but she still wished there was a polite way to say that she would prefer if Potter had been the one to do it.

“All set?” Potter asked, when Hermione had given him the go ahead for his suit.

“Roger,” Hermione and Weasley said at the same time.

“Alright,” Potter said. “Preparing to open the main door.” Through the unwieldy fingers of his gloves, Potter was eventually able to open the door, which unlocked with a click and lowered with this hiss of the hydraulics.

Hermione, instinctually, held her breath as the atmosphere of their ship mixed with the atmosphere of the planet. She held up her wrist and watched on the special display pad on her wrist show the decrease in oxygen and the rise of other, more noxious gases like methane, nitrogen and sulfur oxides.

Potter, as their captain, was the first to step onto the planet, followed by Weasley, and was becoming the norm, pulled in the rear by Hermione. Potter and Weasley were already main paces away from her—curse their long legs—after she had finished locking up the craft. She wanted to yell at them to wait for her—she was the one with the soil collection kit after all—but she also knew that everything they said would be scrutinized, so she tried to walk briskly to catch up while not jostling the sensitive equipment too much.

Eventually she was able to catch up but they hardly noticed her as they were absorbed into the navigator built into a screen mounted on their wrists.

“Should be about a hundred meters that way,” Weasley said, pointing to the slight left of them.

One might expect that they would navigate using the cardinal directions, except not all planets had a magnetic field with which to go off of. This was why their landing had to be so precise—they would be navigating relative to their landing spot. Hermione was not sure what the reasoning was for their decision to collect soil samples in that exact location, but she was sure that precision was important, if not for scientific accuracy, then for their grade.

Hermione, meanwhile, struggled to keep up with her loping, long-legged team members and take in the sights of this novel planet. She was sure visiting so many different terrains would eventually become boring for her, but right now the experience was very fresh and she wanted to meticulously catalogue all of the flora, fauna, and landscape.

She knew that recording devices were placed on their suits to capture any environmental information for later research purposes and—knock on wood—should anything bad happen to them, to uncover why. Maybe Hermione could get permission to look at her footage again so that she could get another look at the strange purplish organisms with their fan-shaped appendages and the bluish rock formations. Still, Hermione was surprised to see there were no non-stationary organisms, as far as she could tell.

Staring ahead and around instead of at her feet, Hermione nearly tripped on something and almost sent their supplies crashing to the ground, but she righted herself and regained her balance.

“I meant to do that,” she joked, double-checking that she still had everything. “Guys?” she asked when they did not immediately respond. “Guys, where are you?” She knew they hated her but this was ridiculous.

Hermione spun around, carely to avoid the thing—a root, perhaps—that had tripped her up before. But her team members were nowhere to be seen. “Ha ha,” she said in mock laughter. “You had your fun. Come out; this isn’t funny anymore, guys. We have a job to do.”

Then Hermione realized with a jolt that she could not hear the static that told her that she was connected to their comms. The communication system should have worked over long distances but maybe they were too far away. All she would have to do was follow her map and then they would meet up and sort all of this out. Except when she looked at her wrist she saw that her wrist screen had gone blank.

“Fu—” she began, but then remembering this still might be recorded, ended with “—udge.”

When she remembered McGonagall and the Hogwarts, she realized that maybe this was part of the test. Snape had said something about “you never knowing” what would happen during the first mission. So maybe their comms had been remotely knocked down to test them and their ability to work together.

Well, Hermione had never failed a test before and she was not about to start now, even if her teammates were inconsiderate assholes. She continued marching in the direction that Weasley had pointed in. Hermione was feeling pretty confident in her choice until she remembered that she had spun around to look for them. Of course, she was pretty sure that there had been a big blue rock formation in the distance that they would have passed on the left.

Or would they have passed it on the right?

 _Shit_ , she thought. She was trying to remember now the navigational skills she had learned in Basic Training. Unfortunately, however, that had been Earth-centric, and now Hermione did not know how best to acquaint herself with this unfamiliar terrain when there were multiple suns.

Hermione stopped. Maybe she should look for signs of her team so that she could double check that she was going in the right direction. Hermione crouched to look for footprints but nothing immediately jumped out at her.

She stood up, ready to continue her search, but then she heard something behind her.

“There you are,” she said, turning around. But what she saw was not her two teammates at all. And what she did see nearly scared her to death. The fright probably would have caused her to throw her precious equipment into the air, had she not already placed it gently on the ground just moments before.

Hermione held back her scream as she saw what stood before her, a four-meter tall, gray-skinned, bipedal alien.

In xenolinguistics she had learned some about speaking to aliens and intergalactic relations, she had learned somewhat about how to address intelligent life forms but she had never seen such a species before. She did not know if she ought to treat the creature more like a human or more like a bear.

But before she could make the decision on whether to be polite or make herself big, the creature reached out and grabbed her by the leg. She was lifted high to look straight into the eyes of this… thing. Hermione was surprised how by humanoid it appeared. It was a little freaky considering how much genetic diversity existed in the universe. Maybe she shouldn’t be so flippant with her use of blasphemous swears.

But Hermione did not have much time to contemplate why this might be when she was being shaken again. She had been trying to be brave—though for whom, she did not know—when she let out another involuntary scream.

And yet it was the scream that probably saved her because then she heard something she did not realize she would ever hope to hear. “Hermione!” Weasley yelled.

But this only agitated the creature more. It swung her around to see where the noise had come from. Hermione screamed again. She scrabbled for the gun that was nestled in the holster around her leg. Despite everything, she did not want to kill or even hurt the thing, but its hide looked thick enough that the discharge from her stunner would only sting a little.

Mercifully the thing had stopped jostling her enough to let get a good hold on the strap holding the gun in place. She almost had her hand on it when the creature let out a roar, took a step backwards, and caused the gun to slip from her grasp and land uselessly on the ground.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Hermione was past the point of caring now if her teachers heard her swear. She had become more focused on getting out of this alive than with her dignity fully in-tact.

She looked down—or rather, up—to see that Potter and Weasley both had their own, much larger, guns trained on the creature.

“Do something!” she yelled to them.

“Doesn’t it look like we’re trying?” Potter yelled back.

Hermione tried to remember her training from self-defense but she had only learned to go against human-sized opponents, not hill-sized beasts. She yelled “I come in peace” in all of the languages she could remember, but the creature ignored her entreaties, utterly focused on her teammates.

The boys advanced and the creature took another step back. “Shoot it!” Hermione yelled. The more blood she felt pooling in her head, the more she felt her sympathy for the creature wane.

“We don’t want it to drop you!” Weasley said.

Hermione looked down. It was not that far of a drop. And they had practiced falling correctly in self-defense class. Maybe it was a risk she could take. But she felt herself sway once more and heard a crack.

 _Shit!_ , she thought. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ _That was their equipment and the creature had stepped on it!_

But before she could panic about failing the mission, she felt the creature let go of her, followed by the sensation of falling. She heard firing shots before she felt immense pain in her arm and her head bounce around her helmet. Then the world went black.

She came to again, her body roughly jostling. She tried to cry out, “Ow,” but she felt like she was suffocating. Hermione looked up to see Weasley holding her, before fading back into unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INJURY WARNING  
> Concussion, broken wrist, lung damage

Hermione awoke to a throbbing headache. She had not felt this way since she had overindulged at her cousin's wedding, the first and only party she had attended. But she knew, despite her disoriented state, that was not the cause of her current suffering, since alcohol consumption was not permitted for recruits aboard the Hogwarts. A rule that had, apparently, been drilled deep into her brain.

It was bright in the room, which was not helping her headache at all. So bright, in fact, that she was probably late to her classes. How had she slept through her alarm? Or the noise of her bunkmates getting up? Hermione tried to sit up in her bed.

“Easy,” a voice said to her, pushing her back down. Hermione might have fought harder if she did not feel as limp as a doll. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Hermione tried to tell this person to let her up, but her voice came out in a whisper.

“Shh,” the voice soothed. “Go back to sleep.”

Hermione tried to protest once more but she felt her eyelids become heavy and the blackness came to claim her.

When Hermione next came to her headache had gone completely. And this time she was able to sit up in bed without a fight. Then she saw what had roused her. At the foot of her bed sat Lieutenant McGonagall, looking as stern and commanding as ever, but she brightened noticeably when she saw Hermione stirring.

“Glad to see you are still with us, Private Granger,” she said.

“Wha-at happened?” Hermione asked, rubbing her eyes. It became immediately apparent that her hand was bandaged, but at least her throat no longer felt like it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper.

“You had... a bit of an _accident_ on your mission.”

Hermione buried her head in her hands. The mission. She had failed the mission and had messed up even the simplest of tasks. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t get the soil samples that you needed.”

McGonagall laughed. “While I admire your dedication to the mission, private, we would prefer you back alive. Don’t worry; Potter and Weasley told me all about what happened. You were certainly lucky, to say the least.”

The longer Hermione talked to her commanding officer, the more the memories of what had happened there came flooding back to her. She remembered now how her teammates had abandoned her, only for her to get snatched by a very large extraterrestrial lifeform. Hermione did not know if she would call that “luck,” especially since she probably would not have needed to be saved were it not for her teammates’ negligence.

“While we can’t be entirely sure of the cause, our scientists have theorized the magnetic field of the planet was so strong as to disrupt our communication equipment. Of course, that means the mission was not entirely in vain. We now know there are large, humanoid creatures and a strong magnetic field on Kronus-6.”

“But you still don’t know the components of the soil,” Hermione said, looking down. Despite everything, she was still embarrassed at her failure. How could she be trusted to go on more missions? She stared at her bandaged hand. At least this time it was her non-dominant one. 

“No,” McGonagall said, placing a gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “But now we are better prepared for the next mission.”

Two forms appeared behind the lieutenant. Hermione recognized their tall, lanky forms as those of her two teammates.

“Well, I’ll leave you three alone,” McGonagall said, standing up. “I’m sure there’s a lot for you to catch up on.”

Potter and Weasley edged tentatively closer when their leader had gone. Potter was running his hands through his hair while Weasley had his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Her and Weasley’s eyes met for the briefest of moments and Hermione looked away, feeling her cheeks get hot. She remembered how he had carried her back to their ship and how close they had been. It was embarrassing for her to have been reliant on him, _of all people_.

“How long have I been out?” Hermione asked; she did not know what else to say. Although, if she had been out a long time, maybe she did not wish to know. Hermione could not bear to think of all the assignments she had to catch up on.

Potter was the first to answer, of course. “When you were dropped, you got a concussion from your head hitting the helmet, but this also caused your helmet to crack a little. The planet’s atmosphere got in and the more caustic gases damaged your respiratory system. So they kept you under to fully heal your head and lungs. It’s been a week.”

 _A week_ , Hermione thought. _Not great, but not unmanageable._

Then she made the mistake of glancing at Weasley again. He looked so sullen. Maybe he was reconsidering rescuing her instead of leaving her on that planet to die.

“What about my hand?” she asked, trying not to think too much about him.

“You landed hard on your wrist too. But when we got you back to the ship, Ron was the one to put the electric splint on it.”

“I told you they were useful,” Weasley said, a small smile cracking his stern expression. Hermione’s first instinct was to fight him on this, but then she realized she might have misread him. Maybe he had not wished her dead after all.

“But despite Ron’s helpful action, it was still too swollen when we landed and they were worried about setting the bones while you were unconscious.”

“Well, this is going to seriously cut into my weight-lifting routine.” Hermione stared at her offending hand. Why couldn’t they just have risked it? It sucked, but, in truth, she did know why. One wrong slip and her wrist might have been misaligned for the rest of her life.

“Snape did mention that, but he said you can suck it up.”

“Hang on. Snape?” Hermione asked, choosing to ignore the obvious dig at her. “I thought Doctor Pomfrey was in charge here.”

“Yes, but she still trusts his counsel. It’s not like he knows _nothing_ ,” Harry said.

“And he did not like it when you insinuated otherwise,” Weasley added with a chuckle.

“We wanted to visit you,” Harry explained. “But Snape said you were not ready yet.”

“Harry told Snape he did not know what he was talking about and that he wanted to speak to Pomfrey. It would have been hilarious if Snape were not so scary.”

“You tried to visit me? Before this?” Hermione asked.

“Of course. We were worried about you!” Harry said, as if it should be obvious. Hermione gave him a skeptical look.

“Yeah, if you died we would be short a member and then we’d have to wait till next year to get a new one. Ow!” Harry had hit Weasley. “What was that for?”

“Be nice to Hermione!” Harry ordered. He was using what Hermione was coming to learn was his “leader” voice.

“I _am_ nice to her! I saved her, didn’t I?”

Harry snorted. “That’s the bare minimum you should do for your team members. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to save her if we were functioning better as a unit.”

Hermione felt her pulse accelerate. This was not only Ron’s fault. This was her fault too.

“Alright,” Pomfrey said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “That’s enough excitement for one day. Visiting hours are over. Go back to your classes,” she said, shooing the boys from Hermione’s bedside.

Harry waved to Hermione as he left, mouthing, “See you soon.”

Soon apparently meant the following Monday, when Hermione was finally allowed to return to her old schedule. She was horribly behind in her schoolwork and she had only been permitted to work on her tablet for a couple of hours while she finished recovering from her concussion in the Hospital Wing. Dr. Pomfrey did not like her staring at a screen, but it could not be helped.

Unfortunately, in exchange for being let out early, Pomfrey informed Hermione that she was not allowed to run in the mornings for the time being—Snape must have snitched on her—and her teachers had been told to go easy on her in her more “physical” classes. Hermione hated being treated like a delicate flower, but she was not about to fight with Pomfrey, especially when she still had to see the woman during her work assignment.

But one side-effect of being kept out of classes was that it gave time for the rumors of her adventures to grow and spread. Instead of being labelled as teacher’s pet, she now was seen as a fearsome warrior, who had fought a twenty-foot tall alien and lived to tell the tale. In their eyes, she was the bravest, since, unlike Ron and Harry, she was the only one to sustain any injuries. At least, that’s what Ginny had told her.

“There she is!” Neville said, already in his seat when Hermione walked into xenobotany class.

Hermione winced. Some part of her did like attention—her constant hand-waving was proof of that—but she did not want attention brought to the fact that she had returned. She just wanted to continue like nothing had happened.

“How are you?” he asked. “I see your wrist is still healing.”

“Yes, there were too many complicating factors to use the bone resetter. I am taking healing accelerants though, so I should be in fighting form before you know it.” Hermione noticed that, unlike last time, Neville did not reach for her hand to examine it further. 

“I mean…” Neville began. “You have to admit…”

“What?” Hermione asked.

The classroom was slowly beginning to fill up with bodies. “You have to admit it’s pretty odd that you hurt yourself twice now and in both cases Snape prevents you from getting fully healed.”

Hermione could see how it might appear to an outsider, like Neville. “Unfortunate coincidences,” she said, but even she could detect the note uncertainty in her voice. There had been an important piece of the equipment just missing entirely. How did that happen if it hadn’t been done intentionally? She still had not told anyone about that.

“I wanted to see how you were doing that whole week, but—and I don’t know why—Snape _hates_ my guts.”

While Hermione was recuperating and staring at nothing for long stretches of time, she had wondered why Neville had not popped by to visit her, but she had thought it was because Ginny had told him to stay away to minimize rumors about her and Neville being more than just friends. 

It was odd. Hermione had not even seen Snape once during her entire stay and he had classrooms there. What were her friends going on about?

“...So, I was wondering if that meant he did not want me around in case I noticed he was not doing his job and reported him to the captain.”

Hermione realized she had not been paying attention to most of Neville’s explanation. “I wouldn’t think about it too much, Neville.” Then she added, “Besides, Pomfrey was there too. She would never let anything bad happen to anyone on this ship.”

Neville still looked unconvinced but Hermione was saved by having to argue the point further by the arrival of Sprout. She had read all of the slides from last week’s lectures and she was eager to learn more on the topic of propagation. Not to mention that it would be a nice reprieve from dwelling on her first mission and the spectacular blunder it had been.

As the day progressed, Hermione grew more curious about what her classmates knew. Everyone was now regarding her warily and giving her a wide berth. As if she might shoot them with her stunner at any moment. Little did they know; Hermione had been practically helpless in that situation and she had been saved by an accident rather than actual skill or knowledge. 

They were not even permitted to carry weapons on board the shop, only on missions. And she had not even been the one to shoot the creature anyway. Or killed it, for that matter!

Unless that was the tale Harry and Ron were spinning. But there was no chance they had actually killed it, right? It had stepped on their glass equipment and walked off. End of story.

She would have to talk to her team to make sure they were all on the same page. 

But Hermione did not have an opportunity to corroborate their story during lunch. Harry and Ron practically dragged Hermione to come sit with them and two more of Rons’s older brothers, the twins, Fred and George.

Lunch was not totally useless, however, because, based on what Fred and George told her, she now knew that their experiences on Kronus-6 were out of the ordinary for first missions. Normally recruits were sent to easy, hospitable planets, free of giant aliens.

The only question that remained was: why had this not been the case for Hermione and her team? Had the choice of their planet been an honest mistake? Or, was, like Neville had hinted at, something more going on?

Hermione took every opportunity to watch Snape during field medicine. She did not know what knowledge she hoped to gain, but she did it nevertheless. Snape, for his part, barely seemed to register her existence. Today they were practicing tourniquets but Snape must have learned his lesson with the splints because they were practicing on dummies rather than each other. The only interaction they shared was when Snape complimented her on her knot.

She should have been ecstatic upon receiving the validation she sought, but instead Hermione just felt uneasy. She was so used to knowing everything that she did not like being kept in the dark.

At dinner, which was also spent with the Weasley twins—honestly, she still didn’t know why her team couldn’t sit with Ginny _Weasley_ —Hermione finally got that opportunity to speak with her team. When Fred and George were talking to some other, more senior recruits, she turned to Harry and Ron and asked them, under her breath, if they knew anything more about their mission.

“Not really,” Harry said. “I haven’t heard from anyone about it, beyond the initial debrief with McGonagall.”

So, Hermione realized, that meant she would know more than them since she had been the one to read the mission briefing. On a whim, Hermione had checked her tablet but was surprised—or perhaps, _un_ surprised—to see that the briefing no longer was on her device. Neville’s suspicions were becoming her own.

Hermione, however, could not explain these suspicions then because Fred and George had turned their attention back on them. They were bugging her about Percy and how she must hate being in class with him, but she brushed them off. Even if Percy was even more of a brown-noser than she was, she was not in the mood to make fun of him.

After dinner, in a secluded area of their common area, Hermione told Ron and Harry everything she had learned. It struck her, only after they had convened, how odd it was to be confiding with them in this way—when Ron had only recently stopped treating her like garbage—but if they were going to actually be a team, so be it.

“No one else had encountered a living creature such as we had,” she said.

“Maybe we were just unlucky,” Ron said. “Maybe they did not know about it ahead of time.”

“That’s what I thought at first too,” Hermione said, “but then I remembered the report and how much information they did have. How could they know all of this information and not know about the troll?”

“The troll?” Harry asked.

“That’s what I’ve taken to calling it,” Hermione explained, feeling a little embarrassed about her nickname. “It reminded me of the trolls from fairy tales in the picture books I read as a child. But that’s not important right now. Right now we need to figure out why we would be sent to a planet where they knew that we wouldn’t be able to navigate with a compass, yet did not know that the magnetic field would affect our comms.”

“Hermione,” Ron said, “listen to yourself! It sounds like you are implying that our teachers are trying to kill us.”

“You don’t think it’s suspicious?”

“I think it’s a series of unfortunate circumstances, but, no, I don’t think it’s suspicious,” Ron replied, crossing his arms and sitting back into his chair.

“Okay,” Hermione said, taking out her tablet and handing it to Ron. “Explain this.”

“What? What am I looking at?”

“The mission briefing has been removed from my tablet.”

“So…”

“So, they did not want us to go back and look at it,” Hermione said, her annoyance level growing.

“Or it’s automatically deleted because it takes up space and does not need to be on your tablet anymore.”

“One little briefing does not take up that much room and you know it.”

“Well, maybe, the information on there is classified and they don’t want you disseminating it, even unintentionally.”

Ron had made an excellent point. That shut Hermione up real fast. It would be excellent safety protocol to only show Hermione the information for only as long as she needed it and no longer. Unfortunately for them, however, Hermione was particularly adept and reading and retaining information.

That weekend Hermione sat at her de facto spot in the classroom off the medbay, her hands clasped in front of her on her table, trying to look the part of the perfect student. Ron and Harry were still skeptical of her theories but Hermione was confident she would discover the facts to either prove or disprove them.

“How’s the wrist feeling, Granger?” Percy asked, always eager to undermine her. Hermione desperately wanted to correct him and tell him her title was Private Granger, but she kept looking straight ahead. “You know Snape used you as a teaching example while you were unconscious.”

Hermione did not know that, in fact, but she tried to keep her features even. Normally that would be considered a breach in doctor-patient confidentiality, but she knew the rules changed in a pedagogical setting and they had probably waived that right in one of the many forms even Hermione could not have been bothered to read before signing.

“He showed us your scans. It was quite fascinating. Not the kind of lessons we were used to. You know, it’s too bad you were unconscious because I know you would have found the lesson enlightening,” Percy said, somehow managing to sound both bored and incredibly smarmy.

“I find all of our lessons enlightening, Private First Class Weasley.” Hermione practically spat his title.

“That’s not what I heard. The way I’ve heard it you find these specialization classes tedious and dull.”

Hermione knew that Snape usually arrived late to these classes but she could feel her heart rate quicken. She wanted to tell Percy to just shut up and leave her alone, but she also did not want him to know he was getting under her skin.

“I would think you would be thrilled. It is an honor after all. The main focus, believe it or not, of our professors is research. And it is incredibly generous of them to take time out of their busy schedules to teach us at all.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Percy. What was he trying to say? That she should be grateful to not get more hands-on time with treating people. Would he trust his life in her hands when most of her knowledge was limited to book theory? Then again, Hermione was the exception. She did have the experience that came with growing up with doctors for parents.

“Good morning, class,” Snape said, striding into the room. He did not even acknowledge Hermione’s return. Not that she expected him to at this point. “Open your books to the chapter on airborne pathogens.”

Hermione did as she was told, quietly and dutifully taking notes from the textbook. Only, Hermione was not paying close attention to what she was writing. She knew Ron had told her not to jump to conspiracy when it came to their professors, but she also had a sneaking suspicion that Percy did not want her to think that Snape cared about her. But to what end?

At the end of the class block, Hermione took a deep breath and mustered all of her courage to talk to Snape while the rest of her classmates filed out of the room. Snape looked up from his desk. When he saw that it was Hermione who was looking down on him, he immediately turned off the screen on his tablet.

“May I help you, Private Granger?” he asked, clasping his hands.

That was the one good thing about blabbermouth Percy. He had provided her with an easy starting point into this conversation.

“Private Weasley, First Class, told me in the previous lecture that you used some of my medical scans to do a demonstration. I was wondering if I could also request such a lecture.” Hermione smiled. “And because, as you know, I am genuinely curious.”

To her surprise, however, Snape nodded and stood up. He turned on the projector and grabbed his tablet, bringing up everything.

“What do you notice?” he asked.

_Oh, okay, so they were really doing this._

“I see in my wrist that the scaphoid is broken. And I also see in the scan that the area that is lit up.” Hermione laughed darkly. “I very obviously landed on my left side.”

“And your lungs?”

“Yes, I can see the damage done to the bronchioles by the gas.”

“What about this?” Snape said, bringing up a new image of Hermione’s lungs.

“And I can see that the damage has been fully-healed.”

“It’s curious, isn’t it?” Snape asked.

“What is, sir?”

“That I would help heal you so thoroughly when I apparently wish you dead.”

“Sir?” Hermione asked, tensing up. She had a feeling of what was about to come.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Granger. I know you suspect me and frankly I’m a little offended that you think I actively wish you harm.” He was drawing closer now and Hermione had to step back.

Hermione wanted to protest that he had it all wrong but she kept her mouth shut. He was not wrong and if he suspected as much already, there was nothing Hermione could say to convince him otherwise.

“So, I would appreciate the next time you throw around such careless accusations, you consider how they affect those implicated.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hermione said.

Snape’s anger seemed to diminish at that. He ran his hand through his hair. “Just don’t do it again, Granger, alright? Trust that I have your best intentions at heart.”

He sounded tired, Hermione thought. Like he had heard this all before. After everything that had happened, she still did not know if she could trust him, but she could at least pretend to.

“And the rest of the officers?” Hermione said, trying to make a joke and lighten the mood. She must be doubly lucky to survive the troll _and_ Snape.

“Granger, don’t you have to be helping Dr. Pomfrey?” he asked, returning to his desk.

“Yes,” she said, saluting to Snape before hurrying from the room. And yet, she did not forget the way he did not answer her question.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warnings. Except maybe bruised egos 😉

Hermione had been worried her convalescence would drag on, but, as she had come to realize, her days could only speed by aboard the Hogwarts. Soon enough her life was back to semi-normal. The only difference, however, was that she was now spending more time with Ron and Harry.

But Harry, she was fairly certain, had an ulterior motive. He seemed to have developed a doomed crush on Ginny, though neither Hermione nor Ron, she suspected, had the heart to tell him just how doomed it was. 

And Ron only talked to her when he wanted help with his assignments. Thankfully for her, however, they did not have too many classes together or else she would be spending all of her time helping him. Hermione was not unused to the feeling; this had been the reality of almost all of her friendships in school.

When she was not talking to them, the boys—as she was starting to call them—seemed to enjoy making a lot of noise and distracting her from her work. In that way, she was starting to regret becoming closer to them. When they had only merely tolerated each other, she had had more time to focus on her own stuff.

Hermione had enough self-awareness to know how cynical that made her seem, so she tried to remember the benefits of her befriending her teammates. At least now no one was calling her a freak or a loser to her face. For that reason, Hermione told herself, she ought to be happy.

Hermione was also back to partnering with Lupin, whom she now noticed handled her with kid gloves. She had no idea how to confront him about this fact and she did not want to sound too accusatory, given how well lobbing accusations at officers had worked for her in the past.

“Have you noticed anything different in self-defense?” She posed the question to her friends one dinner.

Ron still had food in his mouth when he said, “What do you mean?”

“Does it seem like Lupin is going easy on me?”

Harry looked up from his tablet. “No. What would make you think that?”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I just get the sense that he’s not throwing me around as hard as he could be.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Ron asked, looking at Hermione incredulously.

“Yeah, Hermione, do you have a death wish or something?”

“Well, no… It’s just—I want to be prepared, you know? And if he’s being careful with me, I learn how to defend myself.”

“I know you’re still disappointed about the mission,” Harry said. She could hear his “leader” voice and was bracing herself for a lecture. “But, if it makes you feel any better, Hermione, I don’t think either of us would have fared better if we had been in the same situation as you. And I am fairly certain no one in our year would have been able to do any better. I think you can take some satisfaction from that.” 

Hermione wanted to explain that she was not satisfied with the idea that no one could do better than her. She knew no one could do better but she had to be best. Intrinsically she knew it was kind of stupid, but being the best was something that drove her. It was the reason she got out of bed in the morning.

“Listen,” Harry said. “This is obviously bothering you. Lupin is chill. Ginny—” It was not lost on Hermione that Harry started with Ginny. “—Luna, or Neville could tell you that. If it’s bothering you that much, you should go talk to him.”

“Oh, yeah,” Neville said, joining the conversation. Always the quiet one in groups, Hermione had nearly forgotten he was there. “He should have office hours after dinner.”

Hermione realized that she had never before talked to any of her friends about their mentor, but not because she did not talk about her own. She even brought Lupin up when she talked about their shared classes, but neither Ginny, Luna, nor Neville ever contributed more to the conversation about him. Hermione knew they liked him, so why not talk about him more?

Thus far Hermione had never needed to go to Lupin’s office hours, because they hardly ever had assignments for self-defense—as one would expect for a predominantly physical class—and whatever assignments they did have were fairly self-explanatory. But now that her friends had convinced her to talk about her feelings with someone—a novel concept, to be sure—she found herself walking down an unfamiliar hallway to where Lupin’s office was supposed to be located.

However, when she got there, his door was closed. She knew it was his office because The plaque on the door told her so. At first she wondered if her friends had somehow gotten the wrong time, until she heard voices coming from inside. Perhaps he was just helping another recruit then.

So Hermione stepped away from Lupin’s office to give them a little bit of privacy. On her trip over, she had been so engrossed in finding the place, that she had failed to notice the wall adorned with rows and columns of tiny placards. Now she took a step closer to the wall and could clearly see names etched into each of them.

It was odd, considering the walls of the Hogwarts were almost always entirely bare. Hermione found herself compelled to read every single name, even though they meant nothing to her. Then she saw “James Potter.” One of Harry’s relatives? she wondered.

“—Danger you don’t understand!” a voice practically yelled from behind the door. Hermione was ripped from her thoughts and back into the hallway outside of Lupin’s office.

She did not immediately recognize the voice, but that did not necessarily mean anything. It was coming from behind a closed door and the person sounded angry. Despite being in what was essentially a military academy, Hermione was not used to people yelling.

“I understand more than you think, Severus.”

 _Severus_? Where had Hermione heard that name before?

“I don’t think you do, Remus.” _Remus_. That was Lupin. “There are a lot of lives at stake beyond just your own. Our goal should be to minimize casualties. This is an unnecessary risk.”

“How many more lives can we save if we act now rather than later?”

“You are not thinking rationally, as has been proven in the past. I think you need to consider this further.”

“And I think we cannot afford to spend too long thinking. We must act!”

Hermione heard the scrape of a chair against the floor and the sound of someone standing up. Figuring this meant Lupin’s guest would be leaving, Hermione needed desperately to make it seem like she had not just been eavesdropping. She looked harder at the names surrounding James Potter’s. _Fabian Prewett_. _Gideon Prewett_.

She heard the door open. She tried to look entranced by the names. _Peter Pettigrew_. She heard footsteps behind her. _Lily Evans_. Out of the corner of her eye she could make out the dark uniform, sharp nose, and black hair.

It was Snape. Snape had been arguing with Lupin. Of course, Hermione thought. That should have been obvious.

But if Snape had noticed her, he made no acknowledgement of it.

“Private Granger,” Lupin said, popping his head out of his door.

“Sorry for interrupting, sir,” Hermione began. “I wanted to come talk to you. If I understood correctly, you have office hours now?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Come in,” he said, gesturing for her to come inside. “And do not worry about interrupting. Officer Snape and I were just having a professional conversation.”

Hermione nodded and took a seat. It certainly had not sounded “professional,” but what did she know anyway? It was not her job to ask questions.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked, his hands clasped together on his desk. Hermione looked into his hazel eyes. She had been nervous about broaching the subject with him, but Lupin seemed so genuinely interested in what she was about to say that she could feel her confidence increasing.

“Well, as you know, I’ve recently recovered from a concussion.” 

Lupin nodded. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Those words niggled at the back of Hermione’s mind, but she could not articulate why at the moment. “Yes,” Hermione said, smiling broadly. “And I know at first I was supposed to be taking this slowly and trying to minimize physical activity that could cause me to regress, but I’m better now, so…”

Lupin gave her a skeptical look. “I know you’re very intelligent and from what I’ve heard from Officer Snape, you have an aptitude for medicine, so surely you must be familiar with the adverse effects that can come from repeatedly suffering traumatic brain injuries.” Hermione stayed silent. Lupin did have a point there. “If I were you, I would not rush headlong—pun intended—into another concussion, especially so soon after your first.”

“I just think we have to weigh our options,” Hermione said, trying to make her argument sound objective and well reasoned. “I only have so many years to learn and study so I would like to spend that time in the most efficient way possible. If it’s a risk we have to take…”

Hermione suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. This conversation sounded exactly like the one Snape and Lupin had just been having. Only in this situation, she was Lupin and Lupin was Snape. Hermione was sure Lupin would hate the comparison, so she kept this little observation to herself.

“I see a lot of myself in you, Hermione,” he said. The change of address was a surprise, to say the least. Hermione did not know what to make of it. “You are so eager to do all that you can.”

They shared a smile. _Yes, he did understand,_ Hermione thought.

“But you cannot.”

Hermione could feel her face slip and the smile fade. That heel turn had surprised her more than the change to her first name.

“Listen. I know you want to succeed. And trust me, all of your commanding officers also want you to succeed. Yes, even Officer Snape.”

“I didn’t say anything—” Hermione began defensively.

“And you didn’t have to,” Lupin said with a laugh. “We all are aware of his reputation. It does not take a mindreader to ascertain your opinion of him. But, as I was saying, we all care about your well-being and want you to have a future. I know this career is physically demanding but your brain is your most important asset. You can always get stronger later. I think I speak for everyone when I say that protecting your health should be priority number one.”

Hermione wanted to protest some more, but she had a feeling this argument was over. So, trying not to sound too defeated, she said, “No, you are right. I should err on the side of caution. My future self will thank me.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “I heard that you are finally able to restart your extracurricular physical activity. That must give you some amount of joy.”

Hermione cringed inwardly. “You know about that?” she asked. Lupin nodded. Hermione fought the urge to bury her head in her hands. “So, let me guess, that means the entire staff knows.”

“Of course we know! We all know about Snape’s little running shorts, so we were all pleased to find out his secret had been revealed once more.”

“Well, his secret is safe with me. I would not dare risk his ire.”

Lupin leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and laughing deeply. “Trust me. Snape only looks scary. He’s actually harmless.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said, her voice monotone. She would believe it when she saw it.

There was a long, awkward silence before Lupin added, “I hope you are going to bed soon. I’m sure your brain needs the rest.”

“I am still behind so there are a few assignments I have to finish before I can call it a night, but it shouldn’t take me too long.”

Lupin’s mouth was a thin line. “Hence why I never assign much of anything. You recruits have enough responsibility as it is. And where are you going to learn more: doing assignments or being in the field?”

Hermione wondered if he was asking rhetorically or if he genuinely wanted a response from her but he simply stood up and opened the door for her. She was oddly touched. Hermione supposed the gesture would seem normal in any other situation, but since he was stationed above her, it was certainly unusual on this vessel.

“See you Wednesday, Hermione,” he said.

“See you Wednesday, sir,” she said, automatically, before Lupin shut his door.

Hermione stared at his name plaque for a moment, lost in thought. Her eyes drifted to the other name plaques on the wall beside Lupin’s office. She looked up then, seeing what she had not seen before.

“In Memoriam” was spelled out at the top in looping, slanting letters. Those people were all dead. And Harry’s relative, perhaps, was among them. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Hermione’s vibrating wrist told her it was time to wake up. Half-asleep she slipped her workout clothes on and walked slowly to the track. She was more tired than usual today. Despite having fought with Lupin the previous evening about the exact thing, Hermione was now prepared to go easy on herself, at least for the time being. If she couldn’t finish her entire thirty-minute run, Hermione would not beat herself up about it, because she was still recuperating. She did not even turn on her loud, uptempo music, opting for something slower. Soon she found her pace, her sneakered feet keeping rhythm against the rubber track.

“So, what have you found out now?”

Hermione nearly peed her pants. _Snape_. She paused her music. “Pardon me, sir?” She had ascertained who it was based on his gait and the fact that no one else would be up that early in the morning. Even though she was on better terms with Ron and Harry now, they had told her, in no uncertain terms, that they would never again miss precious sleep to run with her.

“What have you found out?” Snape asked again, coming up beside her and matching her unusually slow pace.

“About an assignment? Or…” Hermione said.

“About me,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” Hermione said. “I don’t know anything about you.”

That was a bold-faced lie. She did know something about him. She knew he was pushy and a grouch and altogether not fun to be around.

“I find that hard to believe. Surely you must know _something_.” 

“You’re right. How silly of me,” Hermione said. She did not know how he consistently had the energy to be this annoying this early in the morning. “I know you’re an Officer on the Andromeda Program. You teach medical classes, but you specialize in pharmacology.”

“Is that all you know?”

Hermione pretended to think about it more. “No. I know you run on the track in the morning.”

“Very funny. Anything else? Anything less… superficial?”

“I’ve heard you would rather be teaching self-defense.” Hermione winced after she said that, preparing for his inevitable retort.

“Also hilarious. Is that why you were eavesdropping? To make sure I wouldn’t harm your beloved self-defense teacher? Here I was, thinking you were looking for new reasons not to trust me.”

Is that what this was all about? Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wished she had the self-confidence of this man to believe that everything was about him.

“No,” Hermione huffed, but mostly because she was running. “If you were yelling, then it was hardly my fault for being able to hear everything you’re saying.”

Hermione wished she had not said that. She recognized they had been having a bit of a friendly back-and-forth up until this point, but that had likely crossed a line. At least, she thought it had. Snape gave her one of his signature smirks.

“So, you admit it? You could hear me and Officer Lupin?”

“Yes, but I only heard a snippet; I couldn’t follow the conversation or anything.”

“That’s good. We wouldn’t want you hearing something that you weren’t supposed to.” 

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Because then you’d have to kill me?”

“Exactly,” Snape said before speeding up and leaving her alone to seethe quietly. Hermione was not sure there was a more infuriating man aboard the Hogwarts.

She showed up later that day to xenobotany ready to tell Neville about her interaction with his mentor last night and maybe find out more about Lupin, but her friend had yet to arrive. She was early—the only other person in the room was Malfoy—so she reviewed last night’s assigned reading on chlorophyll-like substances found in extraterrestrial organisms. 

Hermione began subconsciously drumming her fingers against her desk while she read, but when someone—Malfoy, presumably—made a noise, she realized she was probably being annoying and stopped immediately.

“Disappointed your boyfriend isn’t here?” Malfoy asked.

“No,” Hermione said reflexively, before fully-processing what Malfoy had said. She turned in her chair to look at him head-on. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever. You spend all of your time together. You’re always talking and laughing together in the halls.”

“You are correct—we are friends. That is what friends do. And I’m not disappointed he’s not here; Private Longbottom is probably on his first mission today. If anything, I should be proud and excited for my friend.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Let’s hope he fares better than you did then.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared,” Hermione said, turning back around. She had better things to be doing than talking to Malfoy, of all people, anyway. Malfoy made his disdain for anyone he deemed lesser than himself well-known and Hermione was one of those people.

“I don’t care.” Hermione could hear the sneer in Malfoy’s voice. “I’m just surprised that you don’t care about your friend’s well-being.”

Hermione wanted to retort that he did not know what he was talking about when the classroom began filling in with their classmates.

Hermione did not think much of Malfoy’s comment, assuming it was just another attempt by him to get under her skin, until well into the lecture, when she remembered who his mentor was. Snape could have given Malfoy more information about Neville’s mission, so Malfoy had reason to believe it would be unusually dangerous.

Or maybe Hermione was just overreacting. Malfoy was probably just being his usual, annoying self. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself. Her first mission had been a fluke and Neville’s would go smoothly, just like everyone else’s had.

Later, at dinner, she saw Ginny and Luna sitting together, as usual. But no Neville.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warning

As soon as Hermione had heard from Ginny and Luna that Neville was in the medbay, she dropped her meatless tacos onto the table and practically sprinted from the mess hall. It clearly was not an emergency, if Ginny and Luna were enjoying tacos with everyone else and not at his side, but, naturally, Hermione only realized that long after the fact, when she had already made it halfway there.

She slowed as she approached the main entrance to the medbay, careful to not appear too eager to see Neville. Hermione did not want anyone getting the wrong impression. Then again, it probably said a lot about her already that she was visiting him in the first place. It irked her somewhat that this was something she even had to worry about. Was friendship from without your team also disallowed?

It wasn’t, of course, but her friendship with Neville was just another thing that prick, Malfoy, had to ruin for her, along with the air she had to breathe when she was around him, strong with the stench of his awful cologne.

Hermione walked into the medbay, her hands clasped behind her back. She did not think she was strictly permitted to be here when she was not working. Fortunately for her, however, Neville seemed to be the only person in the room.

“Hermione!” he said, his face lighting up when he saw her. He was conscious and did not appear visibly harmed, which was reassuring.

Hermione did not know what to say or do. Despite her firm belief that they were just friends, she was now feeling awkward being alone in his presence. Looking around, she saw the chair at the desk and dragged it over to Neville’s bedside.

“Someone has it out for us, don’t they?” Hermione joked, taking a seat.

But Neville did not take it as a joke. His face turned grave. “I don’t know, Hermione,” he said, much more quietly. And if she was not mistaken, he looked scared. And not scared in the normal, Neville way.

“Why?” she asked, scooting the chair closer. She leaned so that Neville would not have to strain to whisper in her ear.

“Encampments,” he said. But before he could elaborate on what he had meant, Hermione heard the telltale footsteps of someone else entering the room.

Like an instinct, Hermione jerked away from Neville. At first she had thought it would prevent them from looking suspicious but she realized belatedly that it would make what they were doing even more suspicious. Then again, it was suspicious enough that she was in there at all. Still, she had made her bed and now it was time for her to lie in it.

She straightened in her seat and turned to see Officer Lupin striding toward them on his long legs. Naturally he would be here to talk to his team member and, honestly, should have been Hermione’s first assumption for the identity of the interloper.

Hermione relaxed a tinge, feeling her shoulders lower and her jaw unclench. Lupin was easy-going enough. Although, she would probably have been fine as long as it had not been Snape. Anyone but Snape.

“Private Granger,” Lupin said. “What a pleasant surprise. You beat me to see my own recruit.”

Hermione laughed nervously. “Private Longbottom was my first friend. I—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Private Granger,” he said, now at the foot of Neville’s bed. “But I would like an exclusive debriefing with Private Longbottom, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, sir.” She stood and offered him the chair but he shook his head. So Hermione noisily dragged the chair back to the desk. She swore she could feel Neville’s and Lupin’s eyes on her the whole time. Hermione felt so foolish and bothersome, but she nevertheless returned the chair to its rightful position.

When she turned, however, she saw Lupin was giving her his best wolfish grin. “Thank you, Private Granger.” She took that as a dismissal and walked from the room.

“Encampments?” she wondered, walking back to the mess hall and to her meatless, reconstituted tacos.

Well, clearly, that could only mean one thing. Neville’s team had also encountered some sort of intelligent life on their mission that lived in some sort of camp. But why had his team been sent to a planet inhabited by creatures intelligent enough to build their own homes. They had the technology to scope out these planets ahead of time. They should know whether or not there would be any danger to the recruits. The only question was: who were _they_?

Hermione was so engrossed with her thoughts that she did not see the person rounding the corner at the same time as her. They collided, hard, bumping heads and Hermione was worried that she might suffer another mini-concussion.

“You know, Granger, they include these mirrors at intersections so this exact thing does not happen.” Hermione winced; she did not even need to hear the voice, only feel the hard head, to know that she had run into Snape.

Humoring him, she looked at the hemispherical mirror that was indeed hanging on the wall. Huh. She had always assumed that those were there to hide cameras behind but she supposed that functioning as collision-preventers around corners could also be useful.

“Coming from the medbay?” he asked. Hermione was surprised at how little annoyance she detected in his voice. But maybe since his head was so much harder than hers, their little run-in had not hurt him as badly as it had hurt her. She rubbed her head, checking for a bump.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. That probably explains my uncharacteristic carelessness. I was worried about my _friend_.” Hermione had not meant to emphasize the word in such a way, but after her interaction with Malfoy and being caught so close to Neville by Lupin, her subconscious probably wanted to make it clear to everyone.

“Is that so?” Snape asked. “Here I was thinking Private Longbottom only suffered minor bumps and bruises, but if it’s life-threatening, perhaps I should send a comms to his grandmother and tell her the bad news.”

Well, that was good to hear at least. Lupin’s sudden arrival had not given her sufficient time to ascertain the full-extent of Neville’s injuries. But then that did create a snag in her story.

“My worry was unfounded, true, but I was worried nevertheless. That’s the thing about worrying, despite our best intentions otherwise, sometimes it can be deeply illogical.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow at her. “Indeed.”

“I have to get back to dinner, sir,” she said, pointing in the direction of the mess hall. “I’m sorry about bumping into you. It won’t happen again.”

Hermione was about to leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Hang on a moment, if you would, Private Granger.”

Hermione could practically feel the sweat dripping down her back. She was about to be in trouble, wasn’t she? She turned to face Snape, swallowing her fear. “Yes, sir?”

He was holding a small flashlight and shining it into her eyes. She jerked away in surprise but he held her firmly. She knew it was an easy way to check for concussions—to see if her pupils would dilate—but that did not stop her from being caught off-guard.

Snape clicked off his light before pocketing it. “Looks like you did not suffer any further damage. You may return to the mess hall.”

“Right,” she said. “Thanks, sir.”

Hermione sped away, her thoughts still racing and the memory of Snape’s hand still on her shoulder.

“Someone left in a hurry,” Ginny said when she returned.

Hermione swung her legs over the bench and sat down. She looked at her tray. Had there been more reconstituted French fries on her tray before she had left?

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hermione snapped.

“Whoa, okay. I never said he was,” Ginny said. “But now that you mention it.”

Hermione sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just tired of the assumption. That’s why I came back early.” Ginny looked unconvinced. “And Lupin sort of kicked me out.”

“Ah, that makes more sense.” Ginny grabbed a fry from Hermione’s plate. Hermione was about to protest but she was not sure why they served fries with tacos anyway—certainly not her ideal pairing. “How did Neville look?”

“Fine,” Hermione said. “He was more lucid than I was on my return trip.” Ginny shrugged and ate another fry. “But don’t you know that already?”

“I mean, we knew he was awake when we docked but I called in the accident before landing and Pomfrey snatched him before we could talk to him more. And Lupin insisted on debriefing us before we had the chance to talk to him. At that point it was dinner time.”

Hermione sighed again, louder this time. “So, let me guess. You can’t tell me details.”

“Nope,” Ginny said, grabbing another fry.

“How can you know details of our mission but I can’t know anything about yours?” Hermione wondered aloud. Ginny shrugged and stole another fry. “How can you even eat those? They’re not even crispy.”

“I love potatoes,” Ginny said. “And Captain’s orders. I might skirt other rules, but I am not disobeying an order from the big man himself.”

Hermione bit her lip. Although she had yet to meet—or even _see_ —the Captain, she would dare disobey him either.

* * *

The following morning, to her surprise, Snape had once more decided to grace her with his presence on the track. Hermione hung out on the periphery, out of Snape’s view and waited for him to pass by the entrance so she could join him and scare him for once. Still, as she watched him in his ridiculously short shorts, she could not help but remember the way his hand had felt on her shoulder the previous night and how reassuring it had felt under his grip.

Hermione shook her head. She had been on the ship for too long now. She was really starting to miss human contact as evidenced by the warmth she had felt at Snape’s touch. Snape! Of all people!

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Granger, but just know it is not working.”

Hermione started running, hurrying to be at pace with Snape. “Sorry, sir. I guess I still have to work on my stealth.”

“You were doing fairly well,” Snape said. “But it helped that I knew you were coming.”

“How did you—Oh, yes, because I run at the same time every day.”

“Well, glad to see your deductive abilities are still functioning.”

Hermione laughed loudly—a little too loudly. Could Snape tell she was just doing it to be polite?

“So, did you want to talk to me then?” Why couldn’t he just invite her into his office like a normal person?

“Once again you do not fail to impress me.”

“Ha,” she said. She might have more to say if one, she were not dealing with an officer, and two, not starting to run out of breath. But Snape seemed to notice this and he slowed considerably. How could a gesture be both rude and polite? Hermione wondered.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” she asked, feeling her lungs fill with sweet, sweet oxygen.

“I wanted to tell you to be careful.”

Hermione scrunched up her face. First Snape was telling her to trust him and now he was telling her to be careful. What was wrong with him? If he wanted her to trust him, why would he treat her like he did? Clearly this man was not very good with people.

Well, neither was Hermione, but that was beside the point.

“I _am_ careful,” Hermione said, not bothering to hide her frustration at being talked down to. Seriously, did the man not know she was fully aware of the danger this career path would put her life in? She had not made the decision lightly.

“No, you are not. You are not careful in whom you confide and you are definitely not careful in whom you confide that information around.”

Hermione looked at him. “Malfoy,” she said.

Snape clapped—actually clapped—at her. “Great detective work.”

“You had Malfoy spying on me?” Hermione could not believe that. Sure, they were encouraged to snitch on each other if they suspected another student of breaking the rules, but she did not think anyone would actually do it, especially about her. When had she ever done something wrong?

“No,” Snape said resolutely. “He did that on his own. I never asked him to spy on you. I told him to worry only about himself. He just has a hobby, I suppose.”

“He does know there are more productive things to do with his time, doesn’t he?”

Snape chuckled. “Good luck telling that to him.”

But Hermione had no intention of telling Malfoy to stop. She knew that would just egg him on. “So, what do you do with the information that Malfoy gives you?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Despite past experience, Hermione could feel in her gut that she should believe what Snape was telling her. “Why? Should I?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think you should. I have never done anything worthy of tattling on anyway. I am the model recruit.”

“If you insist… Though that fact won’t stop Malfoy from going to someone else with that information, however, if he should so choose.”

Normally when Hermione was thinking, she might bite her lip or nibble on the fleshy end of her thumb, but since she was running, she could do neither of those things. She settled for squinting.

“Can someone—maybe higher than you—tell Malfoy to not—?”

“To not be such a nuisance?”

“You said it, not me.”

“Yes, well, about that. Malfoy has no small amount of clout on this ship. And he was not exactly pleased that you received a better score than him on the exam.”

“He does? What kind of clout?” Hermione asked, trying not to focus too much on the fact that she was, indeed, better than Malfoy. This clout could explain the unearned swagger Malfoy seemed to possess.

Snape sighed. “His family has a lot of money.”

“Ah, that kind of clout—” Hermione began before Snape cut her off.

“You don’t know the half of it. Do you know why it’s called the Andromeda Program?”

“Because initially the purpose was to explore the Andromeda Galaxy.” She had had to have that memorized to pass the entrance exams. Did he think she had forgotten everything? “While that’s no longer the case—”

Snape shook his head, causing Hermione to stop talking. “Ostensibly, but the Andromeda Program was actually named for one of Malfoy’s ancestors, Andromeda Black. The seed funding had been provided by the wealthy, but reclusive, Black family, of which Malfoy’s mother is a member.”

Hermione nodded, wondering why this was important. And there was still the question of why Snape chose to tell her stuff on their runs in the first place.

“Sir, if you’re so afraid I might be overheard, why are you telling me all of this here? Instead of your office?” _Like a normal person_ , she added in her head.

“Because, Granger, this is actually the perfect place to avoid being overheard. Our shoes are loud, we’re breathing heavily, the acoustics in here are garbage.”

Hermione’s timer went off. It was kind of ingenious for Snape to have discovered this fact—not that she would ever tell him that.

“Well, I have to get ready for class. See you later, sir.” She added “sir” a bit belatedly. It felt weird adding that honorific when she felt oddly close to him now. Maybe it was because he had warned her about Malfoy, but something had definitely changed between them.

That meeting had been simultaneously informative while also leaving Hermione with a dozen more questions. Why couldn’t that man just say what he meant to say? Why did everything have to be hidden in shades of meaning? And why had Snape felt it was necessary?

The days marched forward and still Hermione did not know what had happened to her friends on their mission. It was not only that she was not permitted to know, but also because she had become so busy that every time she did remember it, something came up to distract her away. It also did not help that no one seemed as interested in the mission as she was. And on top of all that, Neville seemed to be avoiding her.

Hermione could not believe she had once found Neville annoying and now that he was apparently ignoring her… Well, it actually hurt. Despite her burgeoning closeness with Ron and Harry and her steadfast camaraderie with Ginny and Luna, she had grown accustomed to talking about all of her interests with Neville. As much as she enjoyed her other friends, they would never get excited over new discoveries like he did.

This also meant Malfoy started sitting beside her, so she had to smell his fetid odor even more than usual. Normally one would get in trouble for wearing such strong scents but Hermione realized it did not matter when your family’s money paid for the spaceship you were living on.

Sinistra was at the front of the classroom, lecturing about the geomorphology of glaciers on various planets. Hermione was taking notes rotely but not really paying attention to what was being said. She was going to kick herself later when she would have to learn it at all for the first time for an upcoming test, but now all she could do was jiggle her leg nervously.

Despite her enjoyment of this class and her instructor’s no-nonsense manner of teaching, she was really starting to get cabin fever aboard this ship. Her days were starting to blend together and she missed when her every day was more clearly defined.

When was their next mission? Hermione had heard about other teams going on their second missions—Brown, Patil, and Patil had just gone on theirs—and yet there had been no peep from Sinistra or even a hint of when theirs next would be.

“Private Granger,” Hermione heard through the fog of her thoughts.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” she said. Sinistra was looking at Hermione over her glasses, a disapproving look on her face and her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“I said, ‘What type of moraine is left by Non-Newtonian glaciers like those found on Mars?’”

“Uh,” Hermione began, thinking back to the last thing she remembered in her notes. “Lobate debris aprons?” she offered. That had sounded ridiculous enough for her to remember so that’s what she hoped the answer was.

“Correct,” Sinistra said, though Hermione could hear the disappointment in her voice. “But next time, Private Granger, pay attention. You might not always be so lucky.”

Hermione could hear Malfoy snickering beside her. She wanted to throw him a death glare but now that she knew how much influence he held, she restrained herself. But maybe one day she would not have to.

Her inability to focus extended into other aspects of her life. One particularly quiet evening in the medbay, she found herself trying to make sense of non-water-based glaciers, since she had not been paying attention in class—again—but she kept finding herself looking at the wall or across the room at a sleeping cadet.

“This job is so boring,” a voice said from beside her.

That was Private Edgecombe, one of Hermione’s classmates in the medical specialization but in the year above her. Hermione also saw a member of Edgecombe’s team talk with Harry sometimes. She believed her name was Private Chang.

“On the contrary,” Hermione said, fully aware of how annoying she sounded. “Maybe we are not getting a lot of actual hands-on experience, but during down times, we have the ability to work on our assignments. I think the recruits who are in charge of scrubbing floors would be quite envious.”

“At least they can actually feel useful. We just hand out sleeping pills and painkillers for period cramps. It’s not as if we actually help people.”

“And that’s not helping people?” Hermione asked.

“You know what I mean,” Edgecomb retorted.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Hermione said, still not looking up from her tablet.

I want to help people with actual problems, not just—”

But Hermione was already no longer thinking about Private Edgecombe or this conversation, her thoughts drifting back to Snape. She had been looking for answers from Snape and maybe he was giving them to her, in his own way. Maybe she had to start reading between the lines.

After her shift was up, Hermione decided a trip to the library was in order. Ever since she had gotten closer to Harry and Ron, Hermione had been spending less time in the library, which her two teammates seemed allergic to.

She took a seat at an information terminal, careful to not be too loud. When Hermione had first come to the library, she had assumed it was empty because it was the beginning of a new year. Now she had come to learn that it was always like that, probably because Pince was such a stickler for complete and utter silence.

Hermione navigated to the database that contained old news reports. She typed in the name “Andromeda Black” and watched the matching search results appear. Interestingly enough, the top result seemed to be relatively recent, only from a couple years before Hermione was born. Curious, Hermione clicked on the report.

But what she found was not what she had been looking for. This report—if it could be called that—appeared to be a puff piece about the latest generation of Blacks to attend the Program. Hermione skimmed, figuring there was not much information of use to her contained within.

There was a photo of an imperious-looking woman glaring at the camera through a hardened gaze. The caption read “Bellatrix Black.” Hermione did not know if she had seen a better-named person. Bellatrix, indeed. Based on her uniform, Hermione could tell she was a sergeant.

The next photo was of a blonde man and woman. This caption read “Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy (née Black).” Hermione’s lip curled. These must be Draco Malfoy’s parents. If it had not been for the hair, Hermione still probably would have been able to tell from their haughty expressions.

Still, Hermione did not see anything about Andromeda Black, which presumably, would have caused the article to show up in the first place.

Then, when she was about to give up and read something else, she saw a group photo of three women—Bellatrix and Narcissa among them—and a much younger, sullen looking man. The woman Hermione did not recognize was, at last, Andromeda, but like her sister, she was married and unlike everyone else, retired from service in the Program.

Mystery solved, Hermione thought, when she scrolled to the very bottom to check for any more information on the younger, still living Andromeda Black. But instead she found a final group photo, including the sullen young man, and two more privates: Sirius Black, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew.

Huh, Hermione thought. Two of those names were familiar to her. But Sirius? She could not recall seeing that name on the wall. She would have to check again.

She looked at James Potter. His resemblance to Harry was striking. Definitely a relative, she thought. Based on age and appearance, he was likely Harry’s father. Hermione knew now she really ought to ask Harry about James, even if he was dead now. It might be duplicitous, since she really wanted more information, but she was sure Harry would appreciate the gesture.

A cough jolted Hermione out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Pince pointing at a clock on the wall.

Shit, Hermione thought. It was almost curfew and she had spent all of her time chasing a tangent. It was interesting, to say the least, but not what she had cleared her schedule to research. She would have to come back again to research Andromeda Black another day. In the meantime she silently stood up, pushed in her chair, before giving Pince her most exaggerated salute.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warnings

“Malfoy’s family started the program?” Harry asked, before firing off a blast. He was probably the only person who disliked Malfoy more than Hermione, which meant he would be a sympathetic ear. His shot hit its target with deadly accuracy. Firearms was the only class they could talk in without fear of being overheard.

“Are you surprised?” Hermione asked. Her aim was never as true as his, probably because she still shook a little bit when she fired, in anticipation of the kickback. She was still trying to build up her tolerance, but it hurt nevertheless. “He walks around like he owns the place.”

“I guess he technically does,” Harry said.

“ _Technically_ the Academy is run by an independent board of representatives from several nations on Earth.”

“Okay, pedant.”

“That’s Private Pedant to you.”

“Okay, Private Pedant. And Snape told you this information?”

“Officer Snape, yes,” Hermione said, followed by the ripping sound of the blast hitting a target. Hermione did not even have to look at Harry to know he had just rolled his eyes. He always rolled his eyes when Hermione corrected him on titles.

“How? Why?”

“With his words.” This time Hermione could actually see Harry roll his eyes. “Snape’s worried Malfoy is going to snitch on me because he wants to get me kicked out and Snape can’t do anything about it since Malfoy has too much power aboard the ship.”

“He just told you this one day after class?”

“Well, no… It might have been in an extracurricular context.”

“Extracurricular context? What does _that_ mean?” Harry made a face before taking another shot.

“We sort of… run together sometimes in the morning.”

“What!? Is that why you won’t run with me and Ron anymore?”

“You do know that I know it’s because you two are too lazy, right?”

“In any case, you don’t think this is weird?”

“It’s not weird! It’s only weird if you make it weird!”

“I thought you didn’t trust Snape. Like, intrinsically.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Nothing wrong with changing your mind after you learn more. In fact I wish more people would do that, rather than digging their heels in deeper.”

“I don’t know... I think you might have been on to something about him wanting to murder you. Anyone who runs with you before reveille has an ulterior motive.”

But they had to stop talking when Officer Flitwick came over. “Excellent work, you two. Marked improvement in your marksmanship.” And then he laughed at his joke before continuing his circuit around the room.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be related to James Potter, would you?” Hermione asked, when Flitwick was out of earshot. 

But Harry could not hear Hermione because in that moment he had chosen to discharge another shot. Then he caught sight of Hermione looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Are you related to James Potter?” But another shot rang out nearby.

“Sorry?” he said, cupping his ear as if to hear her better.

“I said, ‘ _Are you related to James Potter?_ ’” She practically shouted the question.

“Jesus Christ, Hermione,” Harry hissed. “You don’t have to shout.”

_Evidently I do_ , she thought. The firing of shots might keep their conversations private, but there was an obvious downside to talking during firearms class. “Well, are you?”

Harry looked surprisingly sheepish for a question about his relation to this person. It was an innocent enough question, wasn’t it? Especially considering Hermione was 99% certain they were related based on appearance alone.

“Yes, I am. How—How do you know my dad’s name?”

Hermione lowered her gun and straightened up to look at Harry. What sort of response was this? Harry was almost cagey. “I saw the name on a memorial plaque in the hallway outside of Lupin’s office and then I saw a picture of him in a report in the library. Why? Is there something wrong with him being your father?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it,” Harry said.

Hermione turned her attention back to the target lest Officer Flitwick speak to her about not using class time efficiently. “It’s kind of serendipitous,” she said, mostly to herself. “I wouldn’t even know this if Snape hadn’t mentioned that thing about Malfoy and the Black family.”

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said, squeezing the trigger. “I think your father was on someone named Sirius Black’s team.”

“Huh, interesting,” was all Harry said.

“You don’t know the name, I take it?”

“No. Never heard of the guy.”

Hermione wished she could take a shower after her firearms lessons but if she did that, she would not be able to also shower after her morning runs. It was one or the other. So, she walked back to her dorm to get some bruise balm Pomfrey had given her to rub on the shoulder her gun rested against.

Tonight was not a night for work study, which meant Hermione could go to the library and get some much needed work done. But, not an hour into her work, she was interrupted by a ping on her wristband from Harry.

“Meet me in the hangar at twenty-hundred hours.”

With a sigh, Hermione turned off her tablet. That meant they were going on another mission. And there wasn’t enough for her to shower, which meant that she would have to start that mission smelly and sticky from sweat and bruise balm. Why couldn’t someone have warned her a bit earlier?

She had known when she signed up that she would not be flying through space in a spa, but it would be nice to start a mission feeling clean and ready to go. The air in her suit would also be recycled—another reason why she wished she had showered.

_Wonderful_ , she thought, as she headed to the hangar.

She passed Snape in the hall, who returned her salute with a dispassionate gesture of his own. Hermione had not expected much from him, but she could admit the lack of a real acknowledgment stung somewhat. If he was walking away from the hangar, that also meant he would not be sending her team off. The realization made her feel strangely sad. The send-off was ultimately a meaningless gesture, but he was becoming more of a mentor figure to her than McGonagall ever had been. Then she was awash with guilt for such a traitorous thought.

“Hermione, wait up!” she heard behind her.

Ron, of course, she thought. She stopped in her tracks and spun to face him. While their relationship had improved, that did not say much considering where they had started. And Hermione was still not entirely confident that she trusted him.

“A night mission?” he said, when they were finally in line and started walking again. “That means it’s a multi-day mission.”

Hermione was about to ask how he would know that but of course his brothers would have told him. Wonderful. She would get to spend multiple days like this.

“I hope I am conscious for the entirety of this one,” Hermione joked. But it truly was only a joke; there was no way in Hell she was going to miss any of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron said, flashing what Hermione figured was supposed to be a dashing grin. It might work on Private Brown, but it was definitely not going to work on her. “I was told I would be allowed to pack something with a little more firepower.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose at his brandished weapon. She had yet to use a blaster such as that in her lessons. “Is that normal?” She was not as much of an expert in what was normal around here—she could admit that—but it certainly did not strike her as normal.

“No, it is not. But I guess they thought letting me carry a bigger weapon you would feel better.”

Hermione scoffed. “They thought I would feel better? I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Relax, Mione” Ron said. Hermione prickled at the unauthorized use of a nickname. An ugly one at that. “I was only joking. But also, it is technically my job to protect you. Harry gets you there safely, I help you do your job safely, and then it’s your job to complete that job.”

Honestly, Hermione had not thought about it that way—and certainly not in so many, inelegant words. She had never felt like the most important person on the mission before, but Ron was right. Their mission was totally moot without her. And that was the reason the last mission had gone so poorly.

“No, you’re right,” she said.

“Oh, I’m right? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” He lifted his hand to touch her forehead but Hermione ducked before he could actually make contact with her skin. But Ron must have understood her message loud and clear because they walked the rest of the way in silence.

In the hangar McGonagall gave them their instructions before sending them on their way. They were going to some far flung planet to collect space dirt again, which felt like a slap in the face to Hermione even though soil composition was an important part of their research. McGonagall also told them to be careful, which felt like another jab. But the last time had only been a fluke, she told herself. Hermione was determined to show everyone that.

After a smooth takeoff and about an hour of easy riding—during which Hermione simultaneously read the mission report and did an assignment—Harry told Hermione that she should get some shut-eye.

“Ron and I have first watch, then you and me, and finally you and Ron.”

Hermione did as she was told—Harry did have the ability on this vessel to boss her around—and pulled down the cot at the back of the ship. She smoothed out the sheets and prayed she would not stink them up. Then she looked to make sure Ron and Harry were not looking before stripping out of her uniform into her rather modest brassiere and undershorts. She had lost most of her modesty—and there was a reason her undergarments covered up so much skin—but she had also never been so exposed around her teammates before.

She pulled down the top sheet on the cot, jumped onto it, before covering herself. The cot was not particularly comfortable—then again, neither was her bunk aboard the Hogwarts—but she fell asleep almost instantly. Perhaps Harry had been right about choosing her to sleep first.

_Hermione dreamt that she was leaning against one of the windows aboard the Hogwarts, when she felt herself pushed from behind. As it was a dream, she fell through the window into the vastness of space. Then, while she fell—also impossible without gravity—she spun around to see someone illuminated in the glow of the ship. She reached her hand to them but they turned away from her._

Before she knew it, Hermione was being shaken roughly.

“Fuck off,” she said, not-quite conscious.

“Is that really how you want to talk to me?”

“Fuck you,” she said, trying to roll over.

“As funny as this is, you have to get up.”

Hermione’s eyes burst open. A freckled face was looking back at her. She sat up, inadvertently exposing her chest. She could tell both she and Ron were making an effort not to acknowledge that fact.

“Sorry about swearing at you,” she said, hopping off the cot, when Ron turned his back on her. “I don’t like being woken up and it tends to have a nasty effect on me. I’m not usually like this.”

“Are you sure about that? I think the first thing you ever said to me was ‘Jesus-Fucking-Christ!’”

“Right. Well…” Hermione said, stepping into her suit to hurriedly get redressed. “It’s all yours,” she said when she had finished.

“Thanks,” he said, unzipping his own suit. Hermione turned around to give him some privacy.

“Sleep well,” Hermione said, still not facing him. She could feel her traitorous cheeks get hot.

“Will do,” he said.

She wondered if she should apologize for making the sheets smelly, but decided that would be too weird, even for her, to say. Hermione dimmed the cargo lights and walked to the front of the ship. The best part of this mission would be that she could finally see where they were going. She would not miss this opportunity. Hermione slipped on her headset.

“Hey,” Harry said.

“Hey,” she responded, sliding into the copilot’s seat. She pulled the buckles over her shoulders and fastened herself in.

“You don’t—” Harry began.

“I know,” Hermione interrupted. “I know I don’t actually have to buckle in. But have you considered I actually like following the rules?”

Harry shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“They exist for a reason,” Hermione explained, even though she knew Harry didn’t care. “Someone thought it was important enough to codify that rule and I, for one, think we should honor that wisdom. This rule, for example, was implemented to keep us safe in case of unsafe flying conditions.”

Harry scoffed, but he followed Hermione’s less-than-subtle prodding and fastened his harness. “I just think you should go for a more rule-flexible approach. Sometimes you do know what’s best.”

“Alright. That might work for you, but when you have hundreds of lives under your command, then you might want to follow the rules for all of their sakes.”

“But, in that hypothetical situation, you’re the one making the rules.”

“Can you stop punching holes in all of my points?”

“No can do, Granger,” he smiled at her cheekily. “As your captain, it is my duty, nay _privilege_ , to argue with you about everything you say.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but not genuinely. “I suppose it is good that we don’t agree. This way you won’t follow my instructions without a second thought.”

“Excuse me. I’m the one who gives the instructions. That’s literally my job as team captain. It’s in the rules, which I thought you _loved_ to follow.”

Hermione smiled.

They had been awake for five hours, looking at the ever expanding space before them, when Hermione noticed Harry starting to fade. She could still control the ship should he fall asleep in his chair, but she wished he had been the one to have taken the next shift and not Ron. Hermione supposed she ought to talk to help keep him awake. But, to her surprise, he was the one who started talking.

“Hermione, when you said you saw a picture of my dad... did you happen to see my mum as well?” She could sense his hope as well as his dread in the question. That probably meant she was dead as well.

“No, I don’t think I did,” Hermione said. “What was her name?”

“Lily Evans.”

It was just as Hermione had suspected. So that meant Harry was an orphan.

“No, I didn’t. But if I get the chance, I’ll be sure to look her up as well.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, smiling slightly. “That would mean a lot to me.” And he genuinely seemed touched.

“You didn’t really know your parents, did you?” Hermione asked. This was an idea that had been forming in the back of Hermione’s mind after she realized he never talked about them.

But it soon became apparent that she should not have asked that question because Harry blanched and looked away. “Not in the slightest actually,” he said at last.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said, staring straight ahead. “My aunt and uncle raised me alright—well, not _alright_ —they were really terrible actually.”

“And they didn’t talk about your parents?”

Harry shook his head. “For one thing, they hated the Program—I think because they were rejected.” Hermione could relate to that. Her parents also hated the Program. “But I actually think they hated my dad more.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Is it your aunt or your uncle who is related to your father?” She could see that if Harry’s father was the older or younger sibling who got into the Program, that could rub someone the wrong way, even after all of these years.

“Neither,” Harry said, matter-of-factly. Hermione had no idea how that made sense. “My aunt is my mum’s sister and the only time she would ever speak of her it was with venom.” Harry’s voice changed then to mimic a woman with a high and reedy voice. “ _That good-for-nothing Potter boy and_ _my perfect sister_. That was all she ever called her.”

“So, you really don’t know anything about them?”

Harry shook his head. “I tried asking my aunt about her sister specifically—since they grew up together—but she just blew me off.”

This was all too much. What sort of environment had Harry grown up in? “That’s terrible, Harry. I really am sorry.”

In truth, this conversation made Hermione feel totally out of her depth, but she knew it made Harry feel better to talk about it, so she decided she needed to keep asking him questions. She had to wonder if Ron knew. Did anyone else know?

“What happened to them?” Hermione asked, though she almost dared not to.

“Believe it or not,” Harry laughed darkly, “I don’t know exactly. All I know is they died during the war, in service to the Program. And now here I am. Ready to continue their legacy.”

The silence hung awkwardly between them. Hermione wondered if Ron would wake up soon to save her.

“I’m sure your family is not much better. You never talk about them either. Can’t imagine that’s a good sign.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her voice becoming very small. “Well, my parents did not want me to enlist either. But I knew I would go crazy if I didn’t see all that I could see, learn all that could learn.”

“That seems pretty noble to me,” Harry said. “Don’t know why they would object.”

“Yes, well, they were worried about the war. And I know what you say—it’s safe now—but the worry does not go away for them. Even on Earth they heard reports of the carnage.”

“You don’t think they didn’t want you to go because they loved you and they were going to miss you?” Harry asked.

“No. Definitely not. If anything they’re just disappointed I am not studying to work at their practice.”

“If they’re worried about you dying in space, then they love you.”

_If they love me they have a funny way of showing it_ , she thought. How whiny she must sound to Harry, someone without parents, so she kept it to herself.

“Hey,” she said, when Ron appeared beside her an hour later. She was still not where she was with him even after all of this time, but she was going to try to remain friendly. Since there was no homework in front of them, however, she was not sure how well that would go.

“Hey,” he echoed, strapping into the pilot’s seat. Ron was the designated pilot when Harry was asleep. She watched him place his hands on the steering, despite the ship being firmly on autopilot. His unease was plain to Hermione.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, returning her gaze to the space before her. The question was a perfunctory one.

“I guess so. That cot was not particularly comfortable but it was nice not to fall asleep to the chorus of snores.”

Hermione smiled and nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. Your sister is one of my dearest friends but she snores like a banshee.”

“Don’t I know it. My room was right next to hers and I could hear her over Fred and George. And I was in the same room as them!” He looked over at her quickly before looking back at the controls. “If you’re tired, you can take a nap. Y’know, so you’ll be fresh for the mission.”

“Already bored of talking to me?” Hermione deadpanned, though she suspected there was some truth to it.

“No,” Ron said, clearly on the defensive and annoyed at her. “Only you, Hermione, would turn a generous gesture into something nasty.”

“It was a _joke_. But with you there is always the assumption, isn’t there?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Like you don’t know? You hate my guts, Ron. So, excuse me for assuming the worst.”

“I don’t hate you,” he retorted.

“You don’t like me either.”

“What is your problem?”

“ _You’re_ my problem.” Hermione took off her headset so she wouldn’t have to hear him anymore. She knew it was petty but Ron always brought out the worst in her.

She stared straight ahead, stars and asteroids passing in front of her. She dozed in and out, but she still did not put her headset back on nor did Ron try to communicate with her again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: spiders

When it was finally time for them to land, Hermione had already returned to the seat of shame. This time she knew not to crane her neck to get a better look of their surroundings and to just be patient while she stared at the wall. She reread the report and was reminded that they were looking for something called philosopherite, which was suspected to be found in trace amounts in this planet’s crust. The name scratched at Hermione’s brain, but it was probably some mineral she had studied cramming for one of her astrogeology exams.

They checked each other’s exosuits before heading into the great unknown. This planet, Reia-12, it seemed, was during its “night” phase—however long that lasted—and a large moon loomed low in the sky. There was a thick coating of fog blanketing the ground likely composed of a toxic cocktail of vapor, while gnarling “trees” dotted the landscape.

“Spooky,” Ron said, as if reading her thoughts. But in her anger, she stayed silent. She had made up her mind to only talk to her teammate only when absolutely necessary, for the sake of her own sanity and everyone else’s.

They had landed in a large clearing, since the “forest” of “trees”—Animal? Vegetable? Mineral? Hermione had no idea—surrounded their destination.

“This way, three o’clock,” Harry said, after checking his wrist. 

They would have to walk some way to reach their destination, which Hermione was less than thrilled about. In her report she had read the planet had slightly higher gravity than what they were used to on Earth. Not to mention the trees’ large root-like structures, which they had to climb over, making their long trek even more difficult.

Nevertheless, the three of them had made it some distance before Harry said, “Wait. Hermione should be in the middle so we don’t lose her.”

Hermione wanted to be annoyed that she needed to be watched, but she also felt a rising sense of affection for Harry for at least thinking of her. The three of them did a sort of shuffle so that they were walking single-file, Hermione behind Harry and Ron behind her. Visibility was also not great, forcing them to stick close.

At first the only thing to hear was the sound of their boots stepping over the terrain but the longer they walked, the more clearly Hermione could parse out the components of Reia-12’s soundscape. A breeze shaking the branches of the trees. The snap of something. Light tapping against the ground. Altogether it gave her the impression of being watched.

Hermione had never considered herself particularly brave, but this mission seemed to be proving her lack of bravery. She seemed to be jumping at every sound. But maybe she would not be so skittish if she were carrying a weapon in her hands, rather than their equipment. A fact she was reminded of when Ron stepped on the back of her boot, causing her to stumble, resulting in the barrel of his blaster digging into her back.

“Watch it,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Hermione did not know if she was snapping because she was annoyed with Ron or because this planet was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

Ron, mercifully, did not engage with her—probably because he knew it was not good practice to aim your weapon at your partner’s back, even if it had been an accident. But Harry was less than pleased.

“Will you two knock it off? We’re trying to do a job here. And your near-constant bickering is getting tiresome.”

Hermione wanted to make a smart retort but she knew deep down that Harry did have a point. Eventually she and Ron would have to figure out their problems if they were ever going to succeed together. Maybe her speak-only-when-necessary plan would not work.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Hermione said, though it pained her to do so. It was technically correct, but it did not feel so.

“Yes, sir,” she heard Ron mumble over their comms.

They continued on their course, deeper and deeper into this simulacrum of a forest. Hermione wanted to reach out and examine the trees further, but their pace did not permit her to do so. But maybe, at the end, when they had made excellent time, she would be allowed to make some observations. After all, was their primary job not to explore and discover?

She had no idea how they—those in charge at the Program—chose planets for them to visit. Maybe this planet was already well-explored and they were just being sent as an exercise. Or maybe they actually were making legitimately new discoveries. Hermione would like to think it was the latter, but this decision-making process was entirely opaque, at least to grunts like them.

At least she could be proud of her training. All of that exercise allowed her to lift her body over particularly tall roots, without any help. She also was not as winded as her two teammates, whose grunts and panting she could hear over their comms.

Eventually they came to a small clearing, just large enough for them all to stand with Hermione in the center, Ron and Harry ringing her. She knelt down and opened the kit, thankful to actually be using it for once rather than it ending up under the foot of a troll-like creature.

Before she began, she looked up to her teammates. They, like her, must have been made uneasy by the environment, since they were standing at attention, their guns pointed into the dark “woods.” But their postures actually allowed Hermione to breathe easy for the first time, confident that she could begin the sampling process.

In truth, not much was required on her end to do the sampling—mostly push a button and wait—but the tiny drill still had to dig deep into the surface in order to get a complete cross-section. Hermione squatted by the device, waiting with baited breath. If this worked, then she would actually have completed the job she had been tasked to do. It was simple yet so satisfying.

“Ron,” Harry said on their comms link. “Did you know Hermione runs with Snape in the mornings?”

“Officer Snape,” Hermione corrected, on instinct. Then she felt herself flush when she realized how that sounded like an admission.

“Is that so?” Ron asked, clearly amused. “Is that why you stopped running with us? To run with _him?_ ”

“No!” Hermione snapped. “And you know it’s not like that. He’s just trying to be helpful.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Harry said.

“Harry, I swear to God—” she said. He was joking—all three of them knew that—but that didn’t mean the personnel in charge of reviewing the mission audio later would interpret it that way.

But Hermione did not have time to consider how much trouble she would get in for being suspected of engaging in a dalliance with a commanding officer, because the ground had started to shake around them.

“Hermione,” Harry said. She could hear the panic in his voice. “Did you read about seismic activity in your report?”

“No,” she said, her own voice trembling.

“What do we do?”

“You want me to tell you? You’re the captain!” Even though she said this, she was secretly pleased that he was deferring to her. But the middle of an earthquake was not the time to dwell on that.

She knew in the event of an earthquake you were supposed to find shelter. But they were in the middle of the woods on a planet with no nearby buildings to take cover in. Maybe they could hide in the “roots” of a “tree?”

“Can you hurry up?” Harry yelled at her.

“I’m trying to think of something!” she yelled back.

But just as the shaking began, it stopped. And they were left in the dark—literally and figuratively—about what had transpired.

Hermione opened her mouth to comment about how lucky they were that the ground had not opened up and swallowed them whole when she heard Ron mumble.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

“S-s-spiders,” Ron said.

Hermione wanted to tell Ron to stop being ridiculous. They were on a strange planet after all—no spiders here. But then she stood up and saw into the beam of Ron’s helmet’s headlight. Many, eerie orbs were reflected in it.

The creatures stepped out of the woods on many spindly legs, which Hermione’s stressed brain would not let her count. They had round bodies and small heads dotted with many, shining eyes. Ron had been right; they did look like spiders. Only these were the size of large dogs.

The trio all stepped back together but Hermione had a growing sense of dread that they were likely surrounded on all sides by the spiders. Then she made the mistake of looking up and seeing more eyes reflected back at her from the branches. Once more Hermione wished she had a weapon in her hand, instead of the soil sampling kit under her arm. But, on the off-chance that they made it out of this encounter alive, she at least had her dirt.

“We come in peace,” Hermione began, like an idiot. Alien-spiders couldn’t speak and if they did, they did not speak a human language.

But to her surprise, one of them—though she could not tell which—spoke, “Are you friends of his?”

Hermione did not know who “he” was but she was not sure she wanted to be friends with him. Then she saw Harry lower his weapon beside her.

Hermione pressed a button in her glove to switch from broadcasting her voice back to their private comms channel. “What the Hell are you doing?”

“What?” Harry asked. “They’ve clearly met humans before.”

“Then why weren’t giant spiders mentioned in the report?”

“Another test?” he offered. Hermione had to admit that was a good point. Harry switched to broadcasting. “Hello, we are members of the Andromeda Program and as my teammate said, we come in peace.”

“Come with us,” one of the alien-spiders said. Hermione could not see any orifice from which they could produce sound—another way in which she could not distinguish them—but their voices were interspersed with clicks, like they were speaking through fangs. Hermione prayed they were not like Earth spiders and their “fangs” were free of any venoms. But these seemed friendly enough.

The alien-spiders walked away from them and back into the woods, and Harry and Hermione began following.

“Come on, Ron,” Harry said over their comms.

“No way. Am I the only one who thinks this is a very bad idea? Follow the spiders? No. Absolutely not.”

Harry could pull rank on Ron but Hermione could sense his hesitation to do so. “These weren’t in the report, therefore it goes against mission directive to follow them,” Ron argued.

“Yes, but part of our mission as members of the Program is diplomacy.”

“Okay,” Ron replied. Hermione could almost hear him realize that his choices were either to stay there and potentially face more alien-spiders alone or go with them to face alien-spiders together.

So that was how Hermione found herself following a group of spider-like aliens deeper into the fog of an unknown planet. Her skin seemed to buzz with electricity. Frightened was not the right word. This was not her first encounter with an alien—and certainly not her last—but here she was doing the important work of strengthening an alliance with these lifeforms on behalf of the entire human race. Proud was an understatement.

Eventually the spiders led them to an even larger clearing. Hermione followed the spiders some distance before she noticed the huge gash in the ground. She was overtaken by vertigo as she peered down. Hermione should thank God and her lucky stars that she had stopped when she had. 

She stepped back a few paces and watched the spiders, whose long legs could cross the gash with ease. They seemed to be waiting at the cavern entrance for something. Once more Hermione heard that rhythmic tapping again. She squinted. The tapping was coming from the spiders, in barely susceptible motions, raised and lowering their spindly legs against the ground. So, was this the source of the “seismic” activity they had felt earlier? Was it a form of communication?

Hermione’s guess seemed to be the right one because more glowing eyes appeared in the mouth of the cave. She supposed if these creatures lived underground, in, maybe, an extensive network of tunnels, then vibrations would be an ideal way to communicate, which made their mastery of a spoken, human language even more interesting.

“My friends,” a deep voice said. Hermione did not know which was speaking until a group of smaller spiders parted to let a much larger one climb out. If the other spiders were large dogs, this one was the size of a horse. Their leader, perhaps?

“Hello,” Harry began, in a shaky voice. Hermione knew Harry was _their_ leader and had received the same diplomatic training she had, but she really wished she was the one doing the talking. They could not afford to mess this up. “My name is Private Harry Potter. This is Private Ron Weasley. And finally, this is Private Hermione Granger.”

The fact that these spiders now knew her name made Hermione uncomfortable. Though why this was the case, she had no idea. It was not as if they could use her name to track her down later or anything.

“We are members of the Andromeda Program.” Hermione almost rolled her eyes. Surely the smaller spiders—likely emissaries—had already told the bigger spider who they were through their taps. “And we come in peace.”

As a show of this peace, Harry put his gun on the ground and Ron, albeit reluctantly, followed suit. Hermione, remembering her own gun, put down the box containing the sampling kit, and unstrapped her blaster from her holster. She wondered, should—God forbid—this mission went to shit, if she would be able to grab both of them, and if not, which she would grab first. Probably the dirt. Death might be preferable to failing a second time.

The large spider rubbed its smaller front legs, or pedipalps, if they were anything like Earth spiders, together, before speaking. “Yes, the Andromeda Program. _He_ also mentioned that name.”

In her xenolinguistics class, Hermione had learned that the things aliens struggled with the most with their language was gendered pronouns since gender seemed to be a uniquely human construct. These creatures’ mastery of the third-person, singular, masculine pronoun came as a shock. Such a shock that she almost did not stop to consider to whom it could refer. Obviously someone else from the Program, but who?

Hermione’s first instinct was to assume Snape, but not for any other reason besides that she thought about him a lot as of late. But surrounded by a family of space arachnids was not the time to consider why that might be the case.

“You are, indeed, friends of his?” the head spider asked.

“If he is a member of the Program, then indeed we are,” Harry said.

“Wonderful,” the head spider said. He—a total guess on Hermione’s part—raised his pedipalps in the air as in celebration and then began clacking them together. Then, all around them, the clacking grew louder as the other spiders followed their leader.

“What is happening?” Ron whispered into their shared comms. “Can I pick my gun up yet?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said. “This is probably just a welcoming ceremony. Don’t assume the worst because you don’t understand.”

“Thank you, _professor_ ,” Ron retorted. Hermione wished she could go over and smack him but that would hardly leave a good impression on the spiders. Then Hermione wondered if they should ask them what they call themselves so she could stop referring to them as alien-spiders.

“On the contrary, he _understands_ quite well,” the head spider said, reminding the three of them just exactly where they were.

Had they not been talking on the private line? But the heads-up display on her helmet told her that it was on. How had the alien-spiders heard?

Then some of the smaller spiders scuttled forward and took their guns. Hermione’s stomach dropped. So much for her hopes for strengthening human-alien relations. So much for her dirt. She hoped, at least, this would earn her a spot on the wall outside Lupin’s office. Or maybe two failed missions did not merit such a distinction.

“Oh, well,” Harry said, “we’ll be going then.”

“Go? I think not. My sons and daughters do not harm him on my command, but I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Goodbye, friends.”

“Can we panic now?” Ron asked as the spiders closed in on them.

But the prospect of two failed missions and no memorial plaque was not going to cut it for Hermione. She was trying to calculate how many of them she could take out by going for their sensitive-looking eyes before they finally got to them. Their exoskeletons looked tough but she also wondered how much damage her kit could do. It had certainly hurt the troll. Death, as it turned out, was _not_ preferable to failure. She was not going down without a fight, that was for damn certain. 

Then, just as she was about to attack her first alien-spider, they all stopped and raised their pedipalps once more. Hermione, with her subpar human-hearing, did not know what had caught their attention and was preparing to take advantage of this distraction. That was, until she heard the loud snapping of many branches followed by light growing brighter in the clearing.

She did not have time to consider how or why their ship was coming toward them at top speed because it also began shooting at the spiders. The three of them ducked and covered their heads as the spiders scurried into their hole.

When the dust had settled and the shooting had stopped, Hermione looked up to see that their ship had disappeared without a trace and that they were surrounded by a couple of alien-spider carcasses.

 _Some diplomatic mission this had been_ , she thought.

“Did you know our ship could do that?” she barely heard Ron ask over their comms. Her ears were still ringing from the blasts.

“If it can, I don’t remember learning that in my classes,” Harry replied.

“Perhaps someone on the Hogwarts was remote piloting it,” Hermione said, getting up. She was pleased to see that her soil sample had been unaffected by the kerfuffle. But if they had to have been saved by mission control, they might not actually be receiving a passing grade. It was only natural that that would be her first concern after surviving a near-death experience.

Yet, even after she said it, this answer did not sit right with her. If mission control really had the power to remotely pilot their ships, then why even bother sending people at all to do missions. At that point she and all of the other recruits would be obsolete.

And if they had brought in the ship to save them, why had they flown it away immediately after? Shouldn’t they have just parked the ship beside them so that they could climb inside and beat a hasty retreat? Moreover, where even was their ship now? Maybe a long walk was the punishment for failing to treat alien-spiders with suspicion. In any case, the most important thing was they got the Hell out of there.

“Ship’s about four kilometers that way,” Harry said, pointing toward nine o’clock. Hermione was pleased to see he and Ron had their guns in hand once more. She looked down for her blaster until she saw a hand extend it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it.

“Don’t mention it.” She did not know why it was so surprising, but she had not expected to hear Ron’s voice. 

“I guess I should apologize,” Hermione said, when she holstered her gun.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m naturally afraid of spiders. If anything, Harry should be the one apologizing; he was the one who thought we should trust them in the first place.”

But Harry was hardly paying attention to them as they began the journey back to their ship. Ron stayed close to her the entire time, which she was immensely grateful for. Hermione supposed pony-sized alien-spiders were the cause of that.

She and Ron even chatted the whole way back. Hermione was glad for the distraction—anything to calm her frayed nerves. And Ron had the sense to talk about inane things, like their bland meals and cold showers.

“And where does the poop go?” he asked, after she had begun describing the plumbing system on the Hogwarts. Hermione tried not to laugh. It _was_ an earnest question. “Do they let it out into space?”

“It’s much too nutrient-rich to waste like that. They squeeze out all of the water to reuse—it’s called graywater—and then they use the dried, organic remains as fertilizer, but not before they treat it for heavy metals, medications, and trace amounts of radioactivity. ”

“Are you taking the piss?”

Hermione might not normally find that so funny, but she giggled, probably still coming down from the adrenaline high. “No, they take the piss to recycle it as well.”

Ron groaned. “Mione.”

And in that moment, maybe she did not hate her nickname that much.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings, but probably not sufficient Snape in short-shorts for some people's taste 😉

After they docked in the hangar and disembarked from their ship, Hermione expected to see, at the most, McGonagall there waiting for them. So, when she stepped down the stairs into the bright lights, she was more than a little shocked to see that all of her teachers—and then some—had congregated there.

Hermione stood at attention while the rest of her crewmates exited the vehicle and an older recruit hurried over to take her sample. The last time they had returned from a mission, Hermione had been very much unconscious, so she hoped this might be normal protocol. That is, until she heard Ron barely stifle a “shit.”

The three of them were escorted, the officers surrounding them, from the hangar and toward the front of the Hogwarts, where all of the important, executive stuff happened. Hermione had never been there before—that business was high above her pay grade—so she was preparing herself for the worst.

The entire journey over Hermione wondered what they had done wrong. They probably weren’t supposed to kill those spiders. Had they caused an intergalactic incident? Were those spiders important allies? Then again, they had also never learned about them in their studies nor had they been briefed on their importance. How were she, Ron, and Harry supposed to know that they were friends, especially when they treated the three of them as foes? But maybe their meaning had been lost in translation. Perhaps the spiders had meant to imply that they would be feasting _with_ them rather than feasting _on_ them.

And they had not even intended to kill the spiders. Their ship sort of did that for them. Hermione had been thinking about explanations the entire trip back. Perhaps there was a mechanism within the ship that was activated by stress response signals emitted by their suits. If their heart rates or adrenaline levels spiked, for example, that could trigger the ship to initiate an offensive mode and come to their aid. Of course, that did not explain why the ship had not rescued them when they were facing the troll, but their comms had also failed them during that mission, thus preventing the ship from receiving those signals. 

Meanwhile Hermione was trying to look sufficiently subordinate among this retinue, so she mostly kept her head down, her eyes trained on her boots. But, at the same time, she was also dying for any indication of what their fate might be—for example, did such an offense merit the death penalty?—that she tried to sneak a glance at the officers surrounding her.

To her right was Snape— _of course_ —but as always his expression was very difficult to read. But, most notably, his normally crisp uniform was looking a tad rumpled. It was late at “night” on the ship; perhaps when he had been roused, he had put on yesterday’s uniform rather than a new one. Or maybe Snape slept in his uniform.

To her left Lupin loped. He, to Hermione’s dismay, looked worried. But he, she tried to reason, also did not look well, like he was recovering from a cold. And, if she was not mistaken, had recently been hit in the eye again, since she could just make out a fading bruise. Hermione must have been staring a bit too long because Lupin turned to look at her. He scanned her face briefly before offering a weak smile.

_That was not good_ , Hermione thought. _They were dead, weren’t they?_

They reached the end of the hallway, where a large set of double doors were flanked by two ugly gargoyles. Their appearance was incongruous with the sleek lines of the rest of the ship, but Hermione suspected that concealed within them were cameras or other such high-tech security devices.

McGonagall, helming the group, stopped before the door and placed her thumb against a pad while also scanning her eye and speaking a password that Hermione could not quite make out. The hydraulic doors slid open with a hiss and they entered.

The room was entirely dark except for a table illuminated by a green glow. Hermione felt herself being pushed forward to stand before the table, while the officers stepped back, Harry and Ron beside her. Hermione realized that the glow was from a row of holograms being emitted from devices lined along the table, people whose lapels were so well-decorated that she nearly smacked herself in the face with the speed at which she stood at attention. For once Harry and Ron also had the sense to follow protocol.

“At ease, privates,” an unctuous voice drawled from the middle of the group. Hermione did not dare to look this person in the eye, but she could still see his upturned nose and aristocratic chin. Although the holograms were monochromatic green, Hermione would bet everything that this man would be platinum blond.

Sure enough, as she examined his lapels further, she could see the name Malfoy embroidered there, as well as the requisite number of pins. Draco Malfoy’s father was a _general_. Well, there went her career. It would have been nice for Snape to mention that tidbit. She wanted to turn around and shoot him a dirty look but that was sure to be a hindrance rather than a help to their cause.

Hermione did not recognize the rest of the holograms, but she could tell they were _the_ Generals, the group in charge of the entire program. Was the Hogwarts’ Captain among them? She still had yet to meet—or even see—the elusive man, but she had also missed the welcoming ceremony when he would have undoubtedly introduced himself to the new recruits.

“You have been brought before the Board of Generals to debrief us on what you three witnessed on your mission to the planet, Reia-12,” the elder Malfoy continued. “Unfortunately the Captain was called away on important business, but the Generals will be sure to relay this information onto him. Private Potter, you are indeed the leader of this team?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Harry said, his words clipped.

“Can you describe, briefly, the events of this mission? But be forewarned, the members of the board have already reviewed the mission materials and we will know if you are omitting details, intentionally or otherwise.”

_Oh, no. No. No._ Did that mean they had heard the comments about Snape? Is that what this was about? Could they really get in trouble for an insinuation? It was not as if she and Snape had even _done_ anything. What would be the grounds they would be charged on? Talking while exercising?

“Sir, yes, sir. We arrived on Reia-12 at oh-two-hundred hours, Coordinated Galactic Time. Privates Granger, Weasley, and myself arrived at the designated drill site at oh-four-hundred hours and began the extraction process without incident—”

“When were you aware,” a curly-haired woman interjected, “that you were not alone on the planet?”

Despite the general unpleasantness of the current circumstances, this woman’s question was somewhat of a relief to Hermione. In that it meant whatever had gotten them in trouble, it had not been her interactions with Snape. At least she would not have to feel guilty for _that_.

“Forgive me, general,” Harry began, “but I was not looking at my watch when the inhabitants of Reia-12 first made contact but I imagine it was around thirty minutes after—”

“Perhaps, I have not made myself abundantly clear, Private Potter,” she said, her voice becoming high and pinched. “When were you and your team members aware that you were not the only humans on the planet?”

“Um,” Harry said. It was not looking good for them. Once more Hermione wished she was the leader so that she could do the speaking for the group. “Well, if I’m being honest—”

“That is what we ask of you,” the curly-haired woman said.

“There was never any point in which we were aware that there were other humans on Reia-12.”

“Is that so?” she said, before coughing delicately. “Then how do you explain the fact that we have evidence of someone entering your ship, overriding all security measures, and flying it toward the exact place the three of you were known to be located?”

“That was not you?” Harry asked, his voice small. “I mean, ma’am, that was not a member of the Program remote piloting the ship?”

“Private Potter, do you think me a fool?” the woman asked.

This was the beginning of the end, Hermione thought. She did not know if she should say goodbye to just her friends or her life as well.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then why, if we had the capability to remote pilot ships, would we ever risk our valuable Program members on risky missions?”

“No, ma’am. It’s—”

“I have not finished, Private Potter. Do you think we have so little regard for human life? Tell us the _truth_.”

“General... Umbridge,” Hermione said, after peeping at the woman’s lapel, “permission to speak.” She knew she was putting her neck on the line for speaking without express permission but, as it seemed presently, their necks were already on the chopping block.

All eyes swiveled to her. Hermione could feel the sweat forming on her back. Perhaps she had been too rash in thinking that she would do a better job than Harry at pleading for their lives. Well, the only thing she could do now was pray that she did not make it worse.

“Granted, Private Granger,” General Umbridge said with a loud sigh. “Though, knowing you, please keep it brief.

Hermione was taken aback. This woman knew of her penchant for verbosity? Now Hermione was truly off her game.

“Yes, ma’am, yes.” She sucked in a deep breath. “The first indication came when it was apparent that the sp—er, _intelligent lifeforms_ —had a firm grasp on our language, followed by their familiarity with the Andromeda Program.”

“Thank you, Private Granger.” Hermione’s shoulders relaxed, if only a little. “But,” Hermione’s shoulders returned to their place by her ears, “if that was your assessment of the situation then why did none of you call for backup?”

“Our reasoning, General Umbridge, ma’am, was that if they were familiar with us and our language, then they must be our allies—”

“Did you read the report before the mission, Private Granger?”

“I did, ma’am. Multiple times—”

“And did the report mention these intelligent lifeforms, even in passing?”

“No, ma’am. It did not. But our thinking was that it was a surprise, of sorts, to test—”

“Forgive me, Private Granger. But it sounds as if you are implying that we would _knowingly_ send a team of first-year recruits to a planet inhabited with dangerous lifeforms without a single mention of them?”

“Well, ma’am, if they weren’t dangerous and mostly stayed underground, would there be any reason to mention them in the report?”

“Private Granger, you are already at impertinence, but you are coming dangerously close to insubordination. Those mission reports are _always_ filled with the most detailed information we have available to us. You should have never assumed otherwise.”

The room was so quiet, Hermione could hear a pin drop. She could hear shuffling but she did not know if it was from her teammates or the officers.

“I ask the three of you again: who was on the planet with you?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Harry interjected. “If you do, indeed, believe someone broke into our ship to rescue us from the aliens, then we didn’t see them.”

General Umbridge tutted. “Do we believe that someone broke in? No, we _know_. I don’t know how to make your team, Private Potter, understand the _severity_ of this situation. Someone with intimate knowledge of our systems is out there and you can rest assured they will be not using this information for good. Let me ask you one more time: did you see who boarded your ship?”

“No, ma’am,” all three of them said at once.

“Very well,” General Umbridge said. “Lieutenant McGonagall.”

“Yes, ma’am,” McGonagall said, stepping forward and bowing.

“As this was your team, I will leave you in charge of doling out the appropriate punishment, but the fact that it was _your_ team has not gone unnoticed by us. Expect a note in your record.” Umbridge turned to speak to all of them. “Expect a note in _all_ of your records.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the four of them said.

“You are all excused. Leave us now as we decide how best to clean up your mess.”

Hermione saluted and turned, ready to leave when she realized that there was still an important piece of the puzzle left unsaid.

“Generals, permission to speak.”

“Granted, but this had better be important, Private Granger,” Umbridge said, her voice strained.

“I promise it is, ma’am. The intelligent lifeforms asked us if we were friends of _his_.”

“And?”

“Well, ma’am, it sounds like whoever was staying on that planet, it was a ‘he.’”

“Thank you, Private Granger, that really clears it up,” General Umbridge retorted. But before she turned away a final time, she caught the uneasy glance the holograms shared.

When the lot of them had reconvened in the hallway, Hermione had expected admonishment from any number of her teachers, on all of whom their mistakes reflected poorly on. What she had not expected, however, was for them to turn on each other.

“Why didn’t you stand up for them, Minerva?” Snape asked, turning to face the lieutenant.

“Severus, you have to remember—” Lupin said.

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Remus. Were you not the one who selected them for the planet?” Snape stepped closer to Lupin, his index finger raised accusingly.

“How was I supposed to know? There was a proscribed list and the three of them seemed like they needed a gentle push in the right direction.”

“How were you supposed to know?” Snape asked. “How long have you been on this program? Lord, am I the only one on this ship with any sense? Could you not have sent a more _mature_ team to scope out that planet?” 

“Yes,” Lupin responded. “Technically.”

“And yet you didn’t.”

“Obviously not.”

“Will you two stop it?” McGonagall said. “Look, we all know what’s coming. The least we can do now is protect them. We need to present a united front so we can lobby the Captain and the Generals to make that happen. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both said, though Lupin sounded more resigned, whereas Hermione could detect a note of rebellion in Snape’s voice. 

It had not really occurred to Hermione before, but—to put it bluntly—McGonagall was relatively old. Could she have been teaching while Snape and Lupin were fresh recruits, like Hermione? Hermione wondered if Snape and Lupin had been contemporaries, but it was hard for her to gauge. Not only was she particularly bad at guessing ages, but she was also sure Snape’s sullen expression added years and he only rarely smiled and never around Lupin—that was for certain.

“You three,” McGonagall said, finally addressing Harry, Ron, and Hermione, “follow me.”

As anyone could guess, they were led to McGonagall’s office in silence. The walk felt particularly long and Hermione dared not check the time. She had no idea how she would manage classes, work, and exercising tomorrow. Of course, if it was not already tomorrow, which Hermione suspected it might be.

They were all sat in the three chairs facing McGonagall’s desk—Harry in the middle, Ron on the right, and Hermione on the left. It occurred to Hermione that this was the first time they had all been in the office at the same time. She wondered if other teams met with their mentors more regularly or if McGonagall’s hands-off approach was the norm.

“Now,” she began, “as you all undoubtedly heard, I have been placed in charge of the disciplinary action you three will face. I do not want, however, for this to be a waste of anyone’s time, so I will be assigning you to officers who I know could use the help but will also be of help to you.

“Potter, you’re with me. Weasley, you’ll go with Lupin. And Granger, that leaves you to help Snape.” Hermione waited for her teammates to snicker but they were mercifully quiet on the matter.

She also wondered why they would be going to officers who were likely to go easy on them—except for Snape, of course—since this was supposed to be a punishment, but McGonagall apparently thought of that too.

“Don’t be mistaken. This is just as much a punishment for us as it is for you. The Generals know that we would prefer not to punish our students as it takes time out of our already busy schedules. But I have some hope that we will all find the experience mutually beneficial.

“You are dismissed. And do not speak a word of your mission to anyone. If information of this mission does get out, the Generals will know exactly who to blame. Now go; try to get some sleep before reveille.”

“Some” was the operative word. After Hermione crept into the dormitory after the meeting, it barely felt like any time at all after her head hit her pillow and her alarm woke her up. She had given herself a little extra sleep time since she did not run that morning—her heart had pumped fast enough recently, thank you very much—but she still felt like she was floating through her day.

The one good thing was that Neville seemed to be talking to her again, which made her happy. He filled her in on the lessons she had missed while she was away and even shared an amusing anecdote about Malfoy embarrassing himself in xenozoology. But what they did not talk about was their experiences on missions.

She could understand keeping information classified, but what was the harm in sharing tidbits? Especially if they would be helpful to one another. Well, perhaps they were allowed to share such experiences, but she suspected both she and Neville were too fearful about getting in trouble to even try. After her recent brush with authority and maybe even dishonorable discharge, Hermione did not want to risk it.

Still, Ginny did manage to ask over lunch, “I heard that they were suspending missions for first years until they figured out a better solution. You wouldn’t happen to be the reason for that ruling, would you?”

Hermione smiled slyly. “I wouldn’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

Despite her smile, her heart sank a little. It was bad enough that she had to spend extra time with Snape and now they would not be allowed to leave this godforsaken ship? Lord help her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings

Hermione was in the middle of field medicine when she got a ping on her wrist telling her she had her first disciplinary appointment with Snape that evening. She wanted to respond that he could have just told her this information to her face since there were only a couple of meters apart but she concentrated on helping Ron resuscitate a dummy.

The dummy kept beeping and flashing an angry red, telling him that he was doing a poor job at forming a seal around the its mouth. Hermione tried to give him pointers and words of encouragement, but she could not help but feel thankful that they did not practice this skill on each other.

After dinner and fielding many questions from the Weasley twins, Ginny, Luna, and Neville, the three of them parted to receive their “punishments.” Hermione had never before been to Snape’s office, but she supposed she was not surprised to see that it was in the same wing as the medbay.

The room was mostly dark. All of the lights were off, save for a small desk lamp which illuminated Officer Snape’s face in a warm, orange glow. He was bent over the desk, his sleeves rolled up, his forehead resting on his hand, his fingers laced through his long, dark hair. For some time she watched him, engrossed in whatever he was reading on his tablet, following the veins in his forearm that snaked into his hand.

Careful not to stare too long, Hermione cleared her throat, which she felt was the normal, polite thing to do. He set his arm on the table and looked up, allowing his hair to flop back into his face. Snape had the nerve to look shocked at her arrival, as if he had not been blowing up her wrist all day with messages about this exact meeting.

“I’m here for my punishment,” Hermione said. It was an unfortunate choice of words, to say the least.

Snape did not respond, just continued staring at her like he had no idea why she was there and that she was disturbing his precious free time. Although, based on what McGonagall had told them about it also being a punishment for the officers, this most likely was the case.

“Right. Well then,” he said standing up off his chair. “Shall we, as they say, ‘hop to it?’”

Hermione wanted to retort that no one said that, but she also knew that this man had control over many of her evenings for the foreseeable future, so she would be wise to hold her tongue. Then again, he had a lot of control over her life normally and she still should probably do better to watch her mouth around him.

“Your task will be to help me grade assignments.” Then he handed her his tablet, as if it were no big deal. Hermione did not take the device immediately; she could hardly believe it. She knew the tablets were heavily monitored by the Program, but it still felt deeply wrong to use someone else’s, considering all of the personal information that was likely to be on there. “Are you going to take it, or not, Granger?”

_Granger_. Not _Private_ Granger.

“I’m allowed to?” she said, more of a question than a statement.

Snape quirked an eyebrow. “I’m giving it to you, am I not?”

“There isn’t classified information on there?” she asked.

_Or, worse, love letters to a spouse?_

Snape did not wear a wedding ring but Hermione was also fairly certain they weren’t permitted in uniform, so there was definitely the possibility that he was married, based on his assumed age. “I would hate for you to have to fill out the paperwork for a data spill,” she said.

“Not if you don’t open something you shouldn’t. Granger, I’m getting a little tired of holding this out for you. Are you going to do your job or not?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Hermione said, finally taking the tablet. The reckless side of herself wanted to respond that he should work on his arm strength if holding that tablet was tiresome for him. But in addition to not wanting to get thrown out of the airlock, his arms were not something to sneeze at.

She also could not help but think about what it must be like to be married to Snape. Marriages were permitted once you had finished your training, and many people chose to marry within the Program, since only another member would understand the long stretches of not seeing one another. The love letters Snape sent while they were apart probably consisted of stilted prose and well-worn clichés.

“What are you smirking at, Granger? You shouldn’t be so happy about doing inane tasks; it’s worrisome.”

Hermione tried to school her features but her entire thought process was consumed with imagining Snape writing poetry. “Shall I compare thee to a mycorrhizal fungus? Thou art more pungent and more arresting. Thy noxious spores hath infected my gray matter.” She burst out laughing.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked. Hermione must have had a death wish. Maybe she had been infected with _Toxoplasma gondii_ and had lost her sense of self-preservation. She sat down in a chair in the corner—Snape had no chairs around his desk.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked at the assignment in front of her. She read a couple of the paragraphs and realized she did not remember learning this material aboard the Hogwarts. It was from Percy Weasley, but was not an assignment from their shared class. 

“Sir,” she said, now regretting her earlier outburst. What if he didn’t answer her questions? “Is this right? I can’t be grading assignments from years above me.”

Snape peered at her over his glasses, looking like he was regretting ever having met Hermione. She also noticed that he had another, different tablet. Hermione had been worried that he would have been bored without the use of his own, but she should have realized that an officer would be permitted to have two.

“I would think you would be thrilled that I would trust you with such a job, but I suppose not.”

“Sir?”

“I thought you were clever, Granger. Do I have to spell it out for you? You are exceptionally bright and I trust you to be able to critique the work of older recruits.”

“I’m just surprised; that’s all.”

“Surprised? Why would you be surprised?”

“That you would say something nice to me.”

Snape scoffed. “You act like I am only ever dismissive.”

“You _are_ only dismissive of me,” Hermione said, though it came out much harsher than she had intended. “I mean, it’s fine. You don’t have to be nice to me; that’s not your job. It’s just… one might assume that if you weren’t nice to me, that you also wouldn’t think highly of me.”

“Well, I can assure you that is not the case.”

Hermione wanted to ask why he had to be such a dickhead to her then, but she didn’t. She had had some doubts about this man’s people skills in the past, but now she firmly believed it. His poor spouse.

“I told you to be careful, didn’t I? Does that sound like someone who hates you?”

“Yes, well, you also didn’t tell me that Malfoy’s father was a _general_.”

Snape shrugged. “But the other piece of that story was also important.”

“I do suppose that his mother’s family is also an important part of—”

“I didn’t just mean around Draco,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I meant to be careful on missions as well.”

“You didn’t say that in so many words. Also, how were we supposed to know there would be homicidal arthropods on the planet?”

Snape sighed. “You wouldn’t.”

“And we’ve never been explicitly told in what situations we are supposed to call for backup.”

“No, you have not.”

“So, all things considered, I think we did a bang-up job.”

“Clearly,” Snape deadpanned.

“Hey, we’re all still kicking!”

“Through sheer, dumb luck.”

“I think that should be our team’s motto,” she suggested. Snape scoffed at that. But Hermione could hear it left unsaid. That it was not luck, so much as an actor—or group of actors—who had saved their lives.

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“I suppose, but I can also choose to not answer.”

“Right. That’s fair.” He probably would choose to ignore this question. “Did they—” she began.

“Did they hear the running comment?” Hermione winced. “Yes. Unfortunately, they did.”

Snape left it at that. Why would he stop there? Were they in trouble or not? Why leave her in anticipation? “ _And?_ ” she asked.

Snape made a noncommittal noise. “There was some laughing among the officers but nothing more. If you’re concerned about _that_ , don’t be. It’s a non-issue.”

Well, if Hermione was confused before, she sure as Hell was confused now. What did that mean? Why did this man never say what he meant to say? “Non-issue?” What was _that_? Because no one would ever be crazy enough to believe it? And why wasn’t he more mad? Wouldn’t Snape be angry to hear his good reputation maligned by a lowly recruit like her?

“Well, that’s good to hear. Here I was worried I would be thrown out for trying to seduce an officer.”

A strange look momentarily crossed Snape’s normally inscrutable features. Was it fear she detected? But Snape never looked scared. Nor would she be, when he had just declared it a “non-issue.”

“Granger,” he said, more authority in his voice, “don’t you have assignments to grade?”

They did not speak the rest of the evening until Hermione felt herself fading. Snape must have noticed it too because he told her to get back to her dormitory. “And for the record, Granger,” he said before she left, “I wanted you on my team; don’t doubt your ability.”

“Right… Thanks, sir,” she said before practically sprinting from the room.

Wonderful. Who was the awkward one now?

She spent the rest of the week grading assignments with Snape in addition to trying to do everything else. Hermione wished scientists would just hurry up and discover time travel so that she could have more time in the day—even if she knew deep down that was not how it worked.

The weekend arrived and with it, some much needed reprieve from her “punishment” and her usual classes. Unfortunately she still had to attend classes with Snape whose comment about wanting her on his team still rattled her. They were no longer speaking during the evenings she spent alone in his office, so things were clearly going great between them.

Hermione did not know whose comment had prompted this rift between them: her seduction comment or his admission that he actually did like her, or maybe it was a deadly combination of the both. But all she could do was focus on the lesson and hope they both sort of forgot anything they had ever said to each other.

Snape was late—of course—which left everyone to talk amongst themselves.

“Can you believe it?” Percy said, when a lull in the conversation happened. If the conversation was not about him, Percy had a tendency to make it about him. “I got a perfect score on my last essay.”

“Snape must be going soft,” Private Davies retorted.

“Or I am exceptionally brilliant.” Hermione snorted at that, but perhaps it was a bit too loud because Percy turned around and glared at her. “Do you think that’s funny? Do I need to ask you what grade you received?”

Hermione, obviously, had not marked her own essay, but she also had not looked at her grade. That had not been her best work and she was fine not knowing that she had been given a mediocre score.

“It doesn’t matter what grade you get. All that matters is what you learned and how you use it,” she said, fully aware of how cliché it sounded.

“That sounds like something someone who received a poor grade would say.”

Hermione smiled broadly but it did not reach her eyes. She was cursing herself for trying to be fair and impartial while doing her job.

“Silence,” Snape said, striding into the room, a cape billowing behind him. Normally officers did not wear their capes—they were highly impractical, after all—so he must have come from an important meeting or something. As if to prove a point about the utility of his cape, he unfastened it immediately and threw it on his desk.

“Now then,” he said. “Where did we leave off last week? Granger?”

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot as everyone turned to stare at her. “Intestinal parasites, sir.”

At dinner, later that day, Hermione found herself unusually preoccupied. She was not paying any attention to what her friends were talking about, which probably suited them just fine. It was not lost on Hermione how often she stalled the conversation with her odd comments and verbal misunderstandings.

Her focus, however, was brought back into the mess hall when she heard a loud, authoritative voice echo through the room. Hermione looked up to see Lieutenant McGonagall standing at the raised platform on the opposite wall.

“Now that I have everyone’s attention,” she began. “I am here to announce some changes to the way missions will be conducted. First years will no longer go on missions alone with their teams and will now be going with another team as well as an officer.”

They were not allowed to groan at orders, but Hermione could practically sense her cohort’s desire to do so. She hoped not many other people would have connected the dots and realized that it was her team that had ruined it for everyone else. Hermione tried to casually look around to gauge their reactions, but their faces were all turned to McGonagall.

“Please note this decision has not been made lightly and is for the safety of everyone.” McGonagall paused and her expression turned grave. “We would like to think that, in our quest for peace, unity, and knowledge, we are welcome everywhere, but that is not always the case and we would be foolish to assume so. There are those out there who seek to undermine our cause for their own selfish goals.”

McGonagall seemed to stare directly at Hermione before she said this next part, “We must be wary of those who wish to do us harm.” Then she looked out toward the rest of the hall. “That is all, privates. Back to what you were doing.”

The lieutenant stepped down from the dais. Once she had gone completely, the mess hall erupted in conversation.

“Work in groups?” Harry asked. “Knowing our luck that means we’ll be placed with Malfoy.”

“Or that means you’ll be put with us,” Ginny said. Harry’s expression changed abruptly from despair to hope. Hermione wanted to kick her friend under the table. Shouldn’t she know better than to lead Harry on like that?

“It’s not the other teams I’m worried about, so much as the officer assigned to us. I don’t know if I can bear the stress.”

“You know they monitor us normally, Neville. This won’t be all that much different.”

“I know,” Neville said, sounding a bit defensive. “But now I won’t even be able to pretend.”

“Well, maybe,” Hermione said, trying to allay his concerns, “they’ll be waiting in the wings, not watching you the entire time and only coming to your side should the need arise.” _Like in the case of giant, man-eating spiders_ , she thought.

After dinner, Hermione hoped she could spend the time catching up on her work, but she was surprised when Harry cornered her. “Can we do that thing you offered to do for me on the ship?” he asked, looking positively sheepish with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on his boots.

Hermione was confused and taken aback. “What she had offered to do for him on the ship?” What could he have possibly meant by that? That was, until Hermione remembered that she would show him the photographs she had found with his father along with looking for pictures of his mother.

“Right. Of course,” she said. “I’ve been so busy with Snape and everything else that it completely slipped my mind. But we can definitely do that now.”

Harry brightened, his head popping up to smile at her. “Great! Thank you so much, Hermione. It means the world to me.”

So the two of them made their wending way from the mess hall to the library. On the way over, Hermione stressed how strict Pince was and how to not to get on her bad side, if it could be avoided. Though Hermione was not entirely sure that was at all possible.

But before they even reached the library, they were met by Officer Lupin, who was walking in the opposite direction on his impossibly long legs. Hermione smiled at him, aiming to be both friendly and deferential, which he apparently took as an invitation to start speaking to them. Not that he needed permission—he was an officer, of course—but Hermione had not expected him to even want to talk to them after all of the trouble they caused him and everyone else.

“Headed to the library, are we?” he asked, with a grin. The question was innocent enough, so why did Hermione feel like she was being interrogated?

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said before Harry could answer. “We’ve both been so busy lately that we needed a quiet place to buckle down and study.” Normally lying was not her strong suit but the kernel of truth made it significantly easier.

“I see,” Lupin said. “And how has your torture with Officer Snape been? I hope it hasn’t felt too much like pulling teeth.”

“Hardly,” she responded, laughing awkwardly. “Officer Snape and I get along quite well now, all things considered.” Another lie.

“Well, I am glad to hear it. I hope you two have a productive study session and I will see you around.”

“What gives?” Harry asked, when Lupin was—hopefully—out of earshot. “He didn’t ask me how my time with McGonagall has been.”

“The world does not revolve around you, Harry,” she joked. “And he probably only asked me because of Snape’s reputation. I definitely wouldn’t think he doesn’t care about you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Or he’s fishing for more information on the Granger-Snape Running Saga,” he countered.

The interaction had certainly been an odd one, but Hermione thought that could be attributed to her own awkwardness, rather than to any grand conspiracy. She really ought to stop seeing conspiracies when there were none, especially when Snape described their previous interactions as a “non-issue.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. If he genuinely believed there was something going on between me and Officer Snape, why would he liken it to ‘pulling teeth.’”

Harry shrugged. “Some relationships are like that.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know you’re technically above me and fighting is strongly disallowed, but if you do not stop, I will not hesitate to take matters into my own hands.”

“Message received, loud and clear,” Harry said, holding up his hands. “I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

Hermione and Harry practically tiptoed into the library. They had already decided beforehand that Harry would search for his father and she, his mother. Hermione, thanks to her familiarity with the terminals, would have an easier time searching for something, whereas Harry could just follow the steps that she had already taken.

But after some digging, Hermione could not find a trace of Lily Evans in the archives. Hermione might have thought that Harry was mistaken in thinking his mother had been in the Program—he had not known her, after all—except Hermione had seen her name on the wall with her own eyes. So where had Lily Evans disappeared to?

Hermione looked over at Harry to see how her friend was doing, heartened by the fact that he, at least, would be successful. Except, he looked equally befuddled. Hermione tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to her own screen to take him through the process. But when she searched “Andromeda Black,” that article did not appear. In fact, the only information that did show up seemed to be about the original Andromeda Black, which Hermione had been unable to find previously.

Harry could probably sense her frustration so he pointed to the clock, which she took as an indication that he wanted to leave. Once they were back in the hallway, they exchanged uneasy glances, but neither said anything despite now being able to freely converse.

If she could have easily found the photographs before, what had changed? She had told herself to stop being so paranoid, but she knew that they were both thinking the same thing: the pictures of Harry’s parents had been purposefully removed.

But why?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing two weeks. I have been busy with NaNoWriMo and being alive in 2020.

As Harry had predicted, their first outing would— _unfortunately_ —be with Malfoy’s team. Hermione was with Harry when they got news and he had been devastated. Later, when she arrived up at the hangar, everyone else was already there, staring at each other coolly. Although she supposed calling it Malfoy’s team was a bit of a misnomer when their captain was, in fact, Private Zabini.

Hermione tried to casually look for Snape—though she doubted she was being subtle at all—but neither he nor McGonagall was present. Instead the giant Officer Hagrid stepped from the shadows, looking as cheerful and good-natured as ever. She had no idea how he could maintain his demeanor in a job like theirs, but she was not about to fault him for it.

Hagrid shepherded them onto a nearby ship, much larger than the one they usually flew—thank goodness, or else their commanding officer might not have fit—and both Private Zabini and Harry headed to the controls. There was a stand-off in the cockpit.

“We’ll go first, if you don’t mind,” Private Zabini said.

“Not at all,” Harry said, very obviously trying to make a good impression in front of an officer.

But the glare Harry gave Malfoy was not lost on Hermione—or probably Officer Hagrid, for that matter—he walked to the back of the ship, where there were seats for passengers. Despite being accustomed to not having a good view while on these expeditions, Hermione could already tell that she was going to chafe against these new rules. 

Not only did they practically have a babysitter, they also had to work with another team. It had taken a lot of time and effort to begin to get along with Harry and Ron, Hermione could not imagine doing the same thing with the likes of Malfoy. Based on the expressions on her teammates’ faces, they were equally miffed about these changes. But they all strapped into their seats, without another word.

Hagrid, ever the chatterbox, tried to lighten the mood by starting a conversation. He wanted to know about all of their lives aboard the Hogwarts—good and bad—which struck Hermione as overly familiar. Was he fishing for information? Or just trying to be friendly? It was hard to know when so much of their lives were already under so much scrutiny.

“And how’s your older brother, Charlie?” he asked of Ron.

Ron shrugged. “He’s doing well, I’m assuming. I haven’t heard from him since he started his mission in the Roman Quadrant.”

“I’m sure he’s making a lot of discoveries. I always did like him, a man after my own heart.”

Ron nodded but he was not really looking at Hagrid. Hermione knew he was used to receiving questions about his family members but never about himself. In that way, she did pity him, despite how he may have treated her in the past.

And then, Hagrid did something funny with his headset. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you tell me about the Acromantulae?”

But Hermione understood in an instant what he had done and why he had done it. The “Acromantulae,” Hermione could immediately parse, based on the word’s morphemes, as Hagrid referring to the giant spider-like aliens they had encountered on Reia-12. Hagrid had cut off their conversation from the rest of the crew so they could speak in private.

“Officer Hagrid—” Hermione began.

“Oh, please, call me Hagrid.”

“Alright… _Hagrid_ , isn’t that information classified?” Hermione asked, despite already knowing it was a moot point; Malfoy and co. couldn’t hear them. But she had to at least _pretend_ to do the right thing.

“Technically it’s only need-to-know and this fella,” he pointed to himself, “needs to know.” Then he added a wink seemingly for good measure.

Hermione fidgeted in her seat. She supposed if the other team aboard the ship grew suspicious of their silence, then that was a problem for later. For right now she could talk to Hagrid, especially since the man did not seem to possess a malicious bone in his gigantic body.

“Well, what do you need to know? You saw the footage, didn’t you?” she asked.

Hagrid nodded vigorously. “Of course. Studied it many times. But it’s not as good as the real thing. You spoke with them, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Where did they appear to be speaking from? That’s the one bit I could not figure out.”

“It was like they talked with their fangs,” Ron interjected. “The clicking quality of their words—it was like they mimicked human voices in that way.”

Hermione had not even been aware that Ron had been paying attention though she supposed it would be hard for him not to pay attention when she and Hagrid were speaking into his ear.

“Well, isn’t that fascinating,” Hagrid said, stroking his beard. Even for officers there were rules about how long facial hair could be and Hagrid’s seemed to be dancing just within or over that limit. Other officers seemed to prefer mustaches—like Lupin and Flitwick—probably to visually set themselves apart from fresh-faced recruits. And then there was Snape, who, based on his morning stubble, probably could not even grow a full beard.

“If you say so. I hate spiders,” Ron said, crossing his arms.

“Seriously misunderstood creatures spiders are.”

Ron rolled his eyes but otherwise said nothing. Even if Hagrid was less intimidating than a bunny rabbit, Ron knew better than to argue with an officer. Hermione, however, learned one important thing—Hagrid could be an excellent ally on the Hogwarts if she only played her cards right.

“I have to agree,” Hermione said. “I absolutely love spiders. Especially the hairy ones. And so much genetic diversity. It’s no wonder something similar evolved on that planet.”

Hagrid laughed and waggled his finger. “I knew since I first heard you speak in my class, Private Granger, that you were a woman of taste.”

Hermione smiled both to Hagrid and at herself. She had never thought of herself as particularly adept at buttering people up but maybe she had a greater, latent talent than she had previously realized.

After a smooth landing, courtesy of Zabini, they did their round-robin checks of each other’s suits, followed by Hermione offering to check Hagrid. The six of them deferred to the highest-ranking member of the mission, but Hagrid waved them off, telling them that he was merely there if it got dicey.

“I am here at your disposal; you can use me as you wish.”

“Well—” Harry began. At the same time Zabini said, “Right—” The pair exchanged an uneasy glance. 

“Where are we going first?” Hermione asked, hoping to ease the tension. If she deferred to both of them, maybe she could maintain everyone’s ego.

The two leaders shared another look before Zabini said, “We need several samples. Ought we split up to get it done faster?”

“I disagree,” Harry said. “They put us in these groups for a reason. We should stick together.”

“We won’t be that far from each other. If one of us comes into danger, we can easily signal for the other team through the comms link.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a knowing glance. They had been in a similar situation where they had split up—albeit, unwittingly—and their comms had been down.

“We’ll also go faster if we’re not travelling in groups of seven. And the two points are not far from here.”

They all looked to Hagrid once more for guidance but he simply shrugged. Perhaps he was not their babysitter at all. Hermione did not know how to feel about that. On one hand, she was glad they were not being mollycoddled, but on the other hand, it would be nice to actually have one person in charge.

She met Harry’s eyes and tried to wordlessly tell him to let them split up. Hermione did not know what was worse in the Program’s eyes: indecisiveness and in-fighting or splitting up.

“Fine,” Harry said, sounding like he was less than fine with the idea. “We’ll get the sample at 10 o’clock and you can get the one at 2 o’clock, if that’s alright with you.”

“That works for us. But we’ll take Officer Hagrid, _if that’s alright with you_.”

“Great,” Harry responded.

“Great,” Private Zabini echoed.

Hermione studied Hagrid’s face to see if he also approved of the idea, but his little smile betrayed nothing—he was normally smiling. So, Hermione took a deep breath and followed her two teammates.

Despite what she might have worried, intergalactic exploration was still just as exciting to her as ever. This particular planet was quite beautiful with large, mountainous formations that she could just make out in the distance. She procured her stylus and began taking notes on her wrist display, wondering what sort of geologic events could be responsible for their creation. Perhaps she could have a discussion with Sinistra when they returned.

As much as she understood that they were grunts, it was still a little odd to Hermione that science recruits like her did not have to type up detailed reports about their observations on the planets. It seemed the Program only ever cared about a single sample rather than the wealth of information that could be gleaned. She knew they had plenty of other scientists—like Ron’s brother, Charlie—doing detailed, long-term missions, but if they were already on the planets, why not use this time for some mini-research?

“Earth to Hermione,” she heard Ron say over their comms. “Look where you’re going or you’re going to trip and fall and we’re going to lose you again.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Hermione said, putting away her stylus. “I just got carried away with the majesty of it all.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“What? You don’t think it’s beautiful?”

“You two are doing it again,” Harry said, interrupting their conversation.

“Sorry,” they said.

“Don’t worry about it; I suppose it’s not your fault.” Hermione was going to ask Harry what he could possibly mean but he continued, “Just wait a couple of years and you can sort it out then.”

Without a word, Hermione and Ron took a step apart, both made uncomfortable by the insinuation. Hermione did not appreciate it, but she supposed that it was better than being associated with Snape, although both could get her in trouble.

“Well, here we are,” Harry said, stopping. If he noticed the awkwardness that now hung between Hermione and Ron, he said nothing.

Hermione took her hammer and chisel and carved a bit of rock from a nearby formation. Then, while Harry and Ron were looking elsewhere, she took a cutting from what appeared to be a shrub-like plant with purple, glossy leaves. At least, she hoped it was like a plant and did not feel pain. But, as soon as she reconsidered her action, she was awash with guilt. Hermione had not had to cut the piece of the stem, after all, but she had done it nevertheless. Still wrapped up the cutting and tucked it into her pocket.

She was about to stand up when some of the branches moved, which confirmed her worst fears: the bush had feelings. 

_Was it going to lash out in retaliation?_ she wondered. As strong as her sense of self-preservation was, Hermione also felt she might deserve it for removing one of its appendages with her knife. 

Then a pink nose and two yellow eyes appeared in a gap of the branches, followed by an orange, furry body. The creature, which had apparently caused the movement in and was separate from the bush, blinked slowly as it took her in. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest. Was it like a clownfish? Did it have a symbiotic relationship with the bush?

The little creature certainly looked harmless enough, as it stood on four, bowed legs, to not be able to hurt her, but as it approached her right hand, she moved it away on instinct. Even if she was wearing reinforced gloves, she did not want to risk it.

But the little furball was insistent and moved against her hand once more. It appeared to be in a friendly mood, so she did the—probably stupid—thing and let it get close. It rubbed what Hermione believed were its ears against her hand and closed its eyes, emitting a low rumble as it did.

“Eugh, Hermione, what is that?” Ron asked.

At the sound of Ron’s voice, the critter’s eyes popped open and it began sputtering angrily.

“Ron, you scared it.”

“You were getting too close, Mione; it might have bitten your finger off.”

“Honestly, Ronald. Look how small it is; it’s harmless.”

But their arguing was cut short when a scream rent the air. “What was that?” Harry asked.

“ _Who_ was that?” Ron asked.

Hermione had a feeling she knew who it was, but their answer came in the form of a message across their comms. “We had an incident. Requesting backup.”

Well, that was extremely helpful, Hermione thought. She stood up and turned to Harry for instruction.

“You heard the guy,” Harry said, sounding a bit smug for Hermione’s taste, especially if there was danger. If there was anyone more annoying about being proven right than Hermione, it might have been Harry. “Let’s go.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but followed her teammates at a light jog. She could have run faster but she was not trying to outpace them and she was also carrying their sampling equipment. There was also the piece of the plant that she had wrapped up and placed in her pocket, now jangling against her leg. It was, perhaps, not her best decision.

When they arrived at the scene, Hermione was not sure what she had expected, but it had not been Malfoy rolling on the ground yelling, while Hagrid tried to calm down a man-sized, vaguely bird-looking thing, only this one was quadrupedal.

“Oh, thank God,” Private Zabini said, running over to her. “You’re here—”

“How long has he been like that?” Hermione asked, practically pushing Zabini out of the way to get closer to Malfoy. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the bloody chicken; he’s attacked me.”

Hermione got on her knees. “Stop flailing,” she said. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

“Oh, he’s killed me. I’m dead.”

Hermione pinned Malfoy down with one hand on his uninjured side, but she realized she would still need two hands to check him out.

“Ron, can you help me?” she asked, the annoyance in her voice obvious to even her. And Ron, to his credit, did as he was asked immediately.

“Is he going to be alright?” Zabini asked.

Hermione wanted to retort “Yes, but no thanks to you,” but she kept her mouth shut and focused on the task at hand. She did not know how Snape’s team could be this inept at treating an injured teammate, considering who their mentor was, but now was not the time to throw around accusations.

Based on a cursory glance, it looked like the bird-thing had scratched Malfoy and tore open his suit, but, unlike Hermione’s experience, the atmosphere of this planet was rather similar to Earth’s. Just to be on the safe side, however, she brought out her adhesive, which she had started carrying just for this purpose to patch up the hole.

“Ow!” Malfoy yelped when she touched his arm. “Be careful; it’s _broken_!”

“Your arm’s not broken,” Hermione said. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Like you would know, you stupid, frigid bitch.” Hermione recoiled. “Ow!” Malfoy yelped again.

“I’m not even touching you!” Hermione exclaimed. Then she saw the devilish grin on Ron’s face. “Ron, stop!”

“He called you a ‘bitch.’ Would it kill him to be nice to you while you’re helping him?”

“I have to help him regardless,” Hermione said, through clenched teeth.

“Still…” Ron said. “Apologize to Hermione.”

“No,” Malfoy said.

Ron put more of his weight on Malfoy’s pinned shoulder. “STOP!” Hermione yelled, jumping up to push Ron off, should it come to that.

But Malfoy said, “Fine. Alright. I’m sorry, _Hermione_.” He practically spit her name.

Ron, however, seemed satisfied and eased off of Malfoy. “Can you walk?” Hermione asked, trying to pretend like he had not been calling her names.

Malfoy tried to stand up, but he swayed. “I think I’ve lost too much blood.”

“Privates Parkinson and Zabini, can you walk Private Malfoy back to the ship?” They nodded and helped Malfoy stand before walking away.

Hermione realized she had no idea how Hagrid was managing with the bird-thing, but when she finally turned her attention to that crisis, she saw that not only did Hagrid have the situation under control, he appeared to be gently stroking it, while Harry looked on warily.

“Do you want to pet him? He’s actually quite gentle.”

“Hagrid,” Hermione said, “what happened?”

“Oh, yeah... Well, they were doing their thing when Buckbeak—”

“Buckbeak? You named it?” Hermione asked, incredulous.

“Well, of course. He’s got to have a name,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyway... they were doing their little task and Buckbeak over here approached them, very friendly, I might add, and the Malfoy boy freaked out, which caused Buckbeak to attack. But can you blame the poor fella? He was scared witless.”

Hermione resisted the urge to rub her temples. How Hagrid made it this far with an attitude like that was beyond her. “Okay, well I have to get back to the ship to check on Private Malfoy. Did they finish their task?”

“I believe so—” Hagrid said, still stroking the big bird.

“Harry or Ron, can you get their stuff? My hands are full.”

“Yep, already got it,” Ron said from behind her.

“Alright, let’s get off this planet,” she said, but not before watching Hagrid wave goodbye to “Buckbeak.” Hermione had to wonder why Hagrid was teaching a bunch of young adults when clearly his calling was befriending extraterrestrial lifeforms.

Back on the ship, Malfoy was out of his suit and his arm had been wrapped up. He did not take up Hermione on her offer to take a second look at it, which suited Hermione just fine. Even if she had yelled at Ron for hurting Malfoy, he could rot for all she cared.

The whole journey back to the ship she had been thinking about what Malfoy and Ron had said. In one way, she had appreciated Ron’s insistence on fighting for her. But, in addition to not wanting to get in trouble for fighting, she also could not help but feel that Ron might have said the same thing to her a couple of months ago.

After all, was she not a frigid bitch?

Halfway there, however, Malfoy took a turn for the worse and started shaking uncontrollably and turning pale.

“Are you doing alright?” Hermione asked, her training eclipsing her desire to let Malfoy succumb to his hubris.

“Yes,” Malfoy said through chattering teeth, but Hermione was already unbuckling her harness.

“No, you’re not. Give me your arm.”

“Relax, woman. Sit back down.”

“Private Malfoy.”

“Did you hear me? Leave me alone.”

“ _Malfoy_.”

“Fuck off.”

“If you insist,” Hermione said. She turned around, pretending to gain her balance after a bout of turbulence, when, in reality, she had reached up to open a drawer and pull out a sedative. In a flash, she uncapped the syringe with her teeth and dug it into his leg.

“What the fuck, Gra-anger?” Malfoy said, his words becoming slurred, before he slumped over in his chair.

“Hermione, what did you do?” Ron asked.

“Do any of you want to face a general’s wrath if his son dies on our hands?” They stared at Hermione blankly. “That’s what I thought. Now if you don’t mind, I have to save this asshole’s life.”

Hermione undid Malfoy’s poorly wrapped bandages. It was unclear whether Malfoy himself had done them one-handed or if one of his teammate’s had. Either way, not a great job. Hermione wanted to ask Malfoy who had the terrible team now, because, based on today’s events, it looked like she had the better team. 

The cut on Malfoy’s arm had clotted but it was also very clearly infected, which probably explained his fever. Hermione did not know how they could be in the same classes and he could have missed these warning signs, but it was probably his pride that had been preventing him from asking for her help.

And while she was normally happy to let stuck-up, rich, good-for-nothing boys die from their own arrogance, she could not imagine that Snape would appreciate losing a charge. So, she gave him an antibiotic and made sure he was strapped in well before taking her own seat. It was really that simple which would have made his death all the more annoying, so she was glad that she had made the executive decision to help him. 

She looked to Hagrid to see if he approved of her actions but he was fully zonked-out. Hermione could not wait until she was an officer herself.

At least he did wake up when they landed so he could carry Malfoy to the medbay because Hermione knew Ron would definitely not be offering. Hermione explained the whole situation to Pomfrey, who tried, and failed, to hide her surprise at Hermione’s admission of drugging a crewmate.

Hagrid had already left so she figured she was also clear to leave, but when she was almost out the door, she was met with a tall body, clad in black.

“Not so fast, Granger,” he said. “I want a full debrief.”

If they had been alone, Hermione might have rolled her eyes and said something snarky in response, but since there were a higher number of people than normal in the medbay, she saluted and followed him into the classroom at the back.

He shut the door behind her before walking to lean his butt against the desk and kick out his legs. Hermione hated that even in that position, he was taller than her. But his posture told her that she was not in trouble, not really, at least.

“So, you sedated the general’s son.” An amused look expression crossed his features.

“Yes, I did,” Hermione said, waiting for the inevitable lecture about being careful around the Malfoys.

“Can you tell me why?” he asked.

“He wasn’t listening to reason, so I decided to… _help_ him. My reasoning was that General Malfoy would prefer having a pissed-off son over a dead one.”

Snape did something that surprised Hermione then. He closed the distance between them in one long stride and clapped a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She stiffened instantly under his touch.

“You did well today, Hermione. I’m proud of you,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

Hermione felt simultaneously very small then but the recognition of her hard work sent a shiver down her spine. “Thank you, sir. I will endeavor to make you proud in the future.”

Snape chuckled before walking from the room. Hermione’s eyes watched him wondering why he was leaving rather than dismissing her. But he turned before he left. “And don’t worry about General Malfoy. He trusts me and therefore that trust also extends to you.”

Hermione nodded, but the declaration left a weird taste in her mouth. Why would General Malfoy trust Snape? Based on the way he talked about Malfoy, Snape did think highly of them. It was not as if Snape was necessarily untrustworthy, but what had he done specifically to earn that trust? The general certainly did not seem to regard all of his officers this way.

And then Hermione felt something move in her pocket.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warnings apply

If there was ever a time for Hermione to be thankful for the hideous cargo pockets in their uniforms, it was now. Why? Because an intergalactic stowaway had somehow gotten in weaseled his way in the first place and she was in need of a spot that allowed her to both hide and keep an eye on him. So, oversized, velcro-ed pockets it was—at least until Hermione figured out how best to proceed.

But why was Hermione hiding him? As a consummate rule-follower, one might expect Hermione to do the correct and responsible thing and tell someone in charge about the little guy, but she was, admittedly, worried about what would happen to him if she did.

Hermione knew the best option for him would be to be brought back home but she feared that he would either be sent out the airlock or dissected and pickled. And the orange little puffball was much too sweet for Hermione to wish ill on him. Every time she would stick her hand in her pocket to check on him, he would seek out her touch and rub his head against her. Not to anthropomorphize an alien too much, but Hermione felt that meant he liked her as well.

Unfortunately for her, however, that had also meant she had not slept well the night before as she lay awake, imagining all of the scenarios of him escaping her sock drawer, exploring the ship, and possibly getting stepped on. But that morning, when she woke, she had been relieved to see he was still curled up there. And after that, it had been back into the pocket for him.

But that also meant she had to skip her morning run; her shorts were missing the key ingredient: pockets. Otherwise, however, she tried to spend the rest of her day as she normally would to not arouse any suspicion. But “tried” was definitely the operative word. How successful she had been was another matter entirely.

She had decided that Hagrid would be her best bet, since he not only had a very obvious soft spot for all forms of life, but he also seemed to be the type to play loose and fast with the rules as he saw fit. So, if anyone would help her with her smuggled cargo and not tell any superior officers about it, that person was Hagrid.

At the end of their xenozoology lecture, Hermione lingered, hoping that Neville would get the hint and leave without her, but, like the attentive friend he had become once more, he waited patiently for her.

“I had a question about an assignment, Officer Hagrid. Can I come to your office hours later tonight?” Hermione said.

“Certainly, Private Granger, but we haven’t had any assignments.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “How foolish of me. I meant I would like to speak to you about the lecture notes. I sort of see them as an assignment since I study them regularly.”

Hermione winced. Could she be any more obvious about it?

“Of course, Private Granger. I would love to help clarify some points for you. See you then,” Hagrid said with a wink. Hermione hoped the wink meant he knew what she had been trying to say—that she wanted to talk to him privately about a sensitive topic.

Hermione and Neville walked side-by-side from the classroom. “What was that about?” Neville asked. “Was it about what happened on your mission?”

“It _might_ have been,” Hermione said, silently cursing Neville’s new-found friendliness. She did not want to have to lie to him again.

“Was it… I don’t know... about you drugging Malfoy perhaps?”

Hermione sighed. “No, it is not, actually… but, let me guess, everyone knows about that.”

“Yes,” Neville said. “But I swear it wasn’t me.”

“Wonderful.” It was a mystery to Hermione how some things could remain secret but other things could become public knowledge so quickly.

“I don’t know why you would be disappointed. Everyone thinks you’re so badass! A science recruit, badass? I mean, who would’ve ever thought?”

“I hardly think what I did could be classified as ‘badass.’ I was mostly thinking about how I did not want to get in trouble. Since when is a fear of getting in trouble ‘badass?’”

“Since the guy you jabbed with a pointy object is an asshole that everyone hates! To be honest, I think we’re all a little jealous that we did not get the opportunity to do it ourselves.”

Hermione could not muster a laugh but she did manage to exhale loudly from her nose.

Even if she had made a plan to talk to Hagrid, she still had to get through her more hands-on classes. Luckily they were only practicing recognizing infections in field medicine—a nice dig at Malfoy, she supposed—and there was no chance of her furry little problem being discovered. But in self-defense Hermione had had to feign a lower-body injury in order to get out of practicing leg sweeps with Lupin, as she tried not to imagine what it would be like to fall on the orange puffball.

As the day progressed, Hermione realized he needed a name. But whenever she tried to think of a suitable name, the only thing that came to mind were his bowed legs and odd gait. After cycling through every possible way to describe his wonky knees, she settled on “Crookshanks.”

The name, in addition to being easier to use than “orange little furry puffball,” probably would also lend her some legitimacy in Hagrid’s eyes. If he saw her as someone equally committed to an appreciation for extraterrestrial life, he would be more willing to join her cause—not that she did not already get the sense that Hagrid would do anything to help a creature in need.

After dinner, Hermione found Hagrid’s office in a wing she had not yet explored, but whose existence she had been informed of by the Weasley twins. The doors along this hall were all labeled as “Laboratory” followed by a number, but based on the biometric scanners beside every door, Hermione figured their uses would be classified.

Hagrid’s office, however, was anything but a lab and more like a mishmash of styles. She could recognize the standard-issue cabinets and desk that she had seen in Lupin’s and Snape’s offices, except Hagrid had apparently infused the room with his own flair by bringing in his own furniture from Earth. There was a worn sofa shoved in one corner, a stool with a crocheted cover, as well as the plush armchair that Hermione had just sat herself in.

The cabinets, instead of being filled with instruments or tools, were stocked with mismatched plates, mugs, bowls, and cups. Hermione seriously had to wonder what this man had done to have been given so much leeway in what amounted to the space military, but that was a question for another time, apparently, because Hagrid was offering her tea in a pink and blue polka-dotted mug.

“I knew you were coming so I made it in advance for you.”

“You didn’t have to, but thank you,” Hermione said, taking the mug from him. “This is very nice, by the way.”

“Oh, the mug? You like that? I made it myself. I love ceramics.” Hagrid opened a container and put something onto a plate that he, presumably, also made. “And I baked a cake as well.”

“In the kitchens?” Hermione asked. She had never heard of an officer doing such a thing.

“Yes, the captain is kind enough to let me mess about in there during down times.”

“This is fantastic; I don’t know the last time I’ve had a dessert.” She did not think they even had such luxuries as sugar aboard the Hogwarts. But then she took a bite of the “cake” and understood immediately that they did not.

“So, you wanted to talk to me?” Hagrid asked, digging into his own piece of “cake.”

“I did,” Hermione said, after choking down the bite. She took a swig of the most bitter tea she had ever tasted and tried not to wince. “It’s a delicate situation regarding our mission, so, naturally, you were the first person I would ask about this.”

As if sensing that Hermione was talking about him, Crookshanks squirmed in her pocket. She patted him gently, in what she hoped was an assuring gesture.

“Ah, yes,” he said, “I understand completely.”

“You do?” Hermione asked.

“Of course! I know all about your little problem.”

“I mean, you might not have realized it because I was hanging off to the side, but I saw and heard everything.”

“That’s a relief,” Hermione said, reaching for her pocket.

“Yes, I understand just how detrimental that kind of relationship can be on a group’s dynamic. I’ve seen it once before and let me tell you, that did not end well.”

“Oh.” She moved her hand away from her pocket once more. “I’m sorry? I don’t think I quite follow.”

“Your team dynamic. You and Ron are obviously closer to each other than to Harry. But don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”

Hermione stared slack-jawed at the large man sitting across from her, dense rock-cake sitting in her hand, wondering how best to explain to him that Ron most certainly hated her guts and that was most certainly not their team dynamic, but she was too shocked to adequately form a response.

“I found a cat… thing,” she blurted out instead. In her head it had made more sense to distract from that conversation entirely so that she would not have to convince yet another person that she was most definitely not in love with yet another crewmate and instead, just barely managing to keep her life together at the moment.

“You did?” Hagrid’s eyes got wider. “Did you get any footage of it?” Apparently his misconceptions about her and Ron’s relationship were all but forgotten.

“I did better than get footage,” she said. The sound of velcro ripping filled the air. She reached into her pocket to pull out Crookshanks before handing him to Hagrid. “I didn't mean to take him; he was a little stowaway.”

“Look at this little fella. Isn’t he a beaut?” Hagrid said, reaching for him.

“I’ve named him Crookshanks. It’s like you’ve said—”

“Everyone’s got to have a name! Right you are.” Hagrid stroked his head gently. “Hello, Crookshanks.”

“So, can you help me? I don’t want them to kill him,” Hermione asked, biting her lip.

Hermione watched as Hagrid’s softness morphed into fierce protectiveness. “Of course. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, you can make frequent visits to see this little guy! And me of course. I’ll have more of this cake you so like. Hell, bring Ron and Harry too. They both seem wonderful.”

Hermione was about to say that both Harry and Ron were good _friends_ of hers when there was a knock on Hagrid’s office door. In a flash, the gentle giant was slipping Crookshanks into his desk drawer.

“Come in,” Hagrid said, straightening up in his seat.

“There you are,” a cool voice said. Hermione straightened her spine. What was _he_ doing here?

She debated turning around to look at Officer Snape or to remain facing forward. She would have to twist herself in her seat and that might make her spill the still very full mug of tea in her hands. How odd this whole scene must look to an outsider.

“I hate to interrupt but Private Granger is supposed to be in my office for her disciplinary action and while I don’t mind the peace and quiet, the generals might not see it that way.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Hagrid said. “I must’ve kept her longer than I intended and Private Granger was too polite to say anything.”

“It’s alright,” Snape said, sounding the most relaxed she had ever heard him. “It's like I said—I didn’t want to do this anyway but I didn’t want us to get in more trouble.”

Silence. Hermione placed her barely nibbled cake and full mug onto Hagrid’s desk, before she stood up. “Well. Thank you for the refreshments, Officer Hagrid.”

“Anytime. I mean it,” Hagrid said with a smile. “And remember what I told you, Private Granger.”

She nodded before following Snape out the door. Hermione knew she was not in trouble—at least she _hoped_ she wasn’t—but she felt deeply embarrassed. She had, in fact, totally forgotten her detention.

“Sorry you had to come get me, sir; I know you’re very busy.” Snape removed his hand from his pocket and waved it like it was no big deal. “Can I ask you how you found me though?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Snape said. But Hermione must have made a face because he added, “Don’t look so stricken. One of your fellow recruits told me.”

“Oh.” Hermione had been worried that they were tracking her movements across the ship or something; that was a relief. Well, they probably were, but at least Snape was not.

“Why were you visiting our xenozoology officer, anyway, if I may ask?”

“We were just discussing an assignment.”

“Oh, an assignment? From Hagrid? I wasn’t aware he gave assignments.”

Yes, of course, Hermione should’ve realized that would’ve been a terrible lie, not only because Snape had a way of seeing right through her, but also because the lie had not worked on Hagrid or Neville either.

“No, you’re right. It was something that happened on the mission. It’s… embarrassing really.”

Snape seemed to accept this answer at face value because he said nothing more on the matter. In fact, Hermione thought he was going to stay completely silent the rest of the journey to his office, until he said, “I didn’t see you running this morning.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “I hurt my leg. Were you looking for me?”

“Not particularly, no. I just happened to be in the area and noticed you were not around.”

“Yes, the leg thing was related to what happened…” She looked at Snape then, a playful joke playing across his features. “Oh. So, you were looking for me?”

“I thought you already knew that I only run when I want to talk to you.”

“Okay, fine. Jesus, don’t need to neg me, _sir_.” She stretched out the last word to highlight its ridiculousness. “Forgive me; I am a little slow on the uptake today after not sleeping well last night.”

“Really? Why couldn’t you sleep?” Hermione pretended not to notice that he was asking her about the quality of her sleep as she walked past a group of her peers. They all stared at her as she and Snape walked past. Their whispers followed the two of them down the hall.

It was somewhat of a relief that people would only assume that she was in trouble and nothing more. The fact that people seemed to think she had something with every other man she interacted with was annoying at best and dangerous at worst, but, for some reason no one suspected the only man she had somewhat of an attraction to. 

That sounded worse than it was. Hermione did not have a crush, or anything. She could just appreciate the aesthetics of an angular face. That, and probably because she was cooped up on this ship and they spent a lot of time alone together. But even if it were a crush, there was no way Officer Snape would ever act on it, especially if he was already married, like she suspected.

“Did you fall asleep as we were walking? Because that is quite the impressive feat.”

Hermione had gotten lost in her thoughts in the middle of a conversation. Again. She had to rewind the tape in her mind to remember what they had been talking about. That was right; they had been talking about her quality of sleep. How oddly intimate.

“Oh, you know—the stress of existence keeping me awake,” she said, trying to sound blasé about the whole thing. Hermione doubted anyone aboard the Hogwarts would care about this and if it was anything like Basic Training, the only solution would be for her to “suck it up.”

But to her surprise, Snape frowned, a worried crease forming in between his eyebrows. “That is not good. Is there any way I can help?”

“No,” Hermione said, trying to ease his concerns. “It’s my own fault, really. I am running myself ragged but I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to not be doing absolutely everything I can at all times.”

They reached his office and Snape shut the door behind her. “You know,” he said. “If you can’t sleep, we have sleeping pills. I can get you some.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “In an official capacity? Or would this be an against-the-rules kind of thing?”

Snape laughed. “You really are clever, aren’t you? This would be an under the table deal.”

“Well, I hardly think that’s a good idea. I don’t need anymore reasons for them to get rid of me. I’m on thin ice as it is.”

“You don’t want to join me on the ice? It’s quite enjoyable.”

“Unfortunately, sir, I did not bring my skates with me into space.” Snape laughed again, which Hermione found odd considering the subject matter. “At the very beginning of my career in this program, I had a sneaking suspicion that you wanted to get rid of me. I think that suspicion has just been confirmed.”

“Get rid of you? No, I enjoy our conversations too much to get rid of you now.”

“ _Now?_ So, there was a point where you might have wanted me gone, but not anymore.”

She could enjoy this banter, especially since the awkwardness between them seemed to have dissipated, at least for the time being. But remembering the awkwardness reminded her of when she had learned that he had actually wanted her on his team. Which meant he had actually never wanted to get rid of her. He had always seen something valuable in her.

But what value that was, Hermione was not sure.

“Well, since I’m here, I had better get grading,” she said, not wanting to consider that point any further.

Snape nodded, taking a sip from his flask, before handing Hermione his second tablet.

“Think about what I said, Granger,” he said.

When Hermione finally dragged herself from Snape’s office to the common area, she was ready for bed. But, unfortunately, she still had many assignments to finish.

Hermione took a seat at one of the empty tables and pulled out her stylus and tablet to get to work. Her eyelids were beginning to droop but she just needed to finish a problem set for engineering.

Two bodies joined her in the seats next to her. “Hey, guys. How were your detentions? I almost missed mine, but luckily Snape seems to hate it more than I do so he went easy on me.”

“Is that so?” a voice asked. Hermione looked up. The voice was male but decidedly did not belong to Ron or Harry.

It was either Fred or George—she still wasn’t entirely sure what the difference between the two was—who had spoken, which was somewhat of a shock, since they had made their disdain for Hermione’s stick-in-the-mud ways apparent.

“He seemed pretty miffed when he asked us where you could be found,” the other said.

“Hang on,” Hermione said. “Why would he ask you two where I am?”

“Oh, you wound us, Granger,” said the right.

“Yes, are we not friends?” asked the left.

“Well, yes… but how does Officer Snape know that?” Hermione asked, beginning to feel less annoyed and more curious.

“Listen, we knew where you were, didn’t we? So, what does it matter?” the left said.

“Alright… so, why did you come over here to talk to me?”

“We just wanted to make sure Snape hadn’t murdered you,” the right explained.

“As you can see, I am in one piece and have very visibly _not_ been murdered, so you two can be on your ways and I can finish this problem set.”

The one on the left took her tablet and then he squinted at it. Hermione had moved back firmly into annoyance territory. “I don’t know how you science people do this. Thank God that’s Lee’s purview and not ours.”

The right one took it from his twin. “What even is the point? Don’t we have computers to do this much faster and more efficiently than by hand?”

“Yes, but you have to understand the theory behind it if you’re going to build applications based on it. Plus, it’s interesting.”

“Oh, you hear that, George?”

“I do, Fred. It’s _interesting_.”

“It is! And if you would please do the favor of leaving me alone so I can finish reviewing this fascinating material.”

“Message received, loud and clear,” the one who apparently was George. He gave her back her tablet.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “Now if you would…”

“Yep,” Fred said, standing up with his twin.

“See you around, Granger.”

Hermione sighed loudly and rubbed her temples. She did not know if she could take four more years of this.

“You look terrible,” Luna said to Hermione, later that week. “Are you feeling well?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Hermione said. “Things— _tiresome_ things—kept coming up. But I will feel better soon.”

“Are you sure about that? You could carry probably all of your belongings in those eye bags,” Ginny said, coming over to lean on Luna. Hermione noticed how the gesture would probably be interpreted as friendly rather than romantic. Her friends were experts at skirting that line.

But rather than considering the ramifications secrecy had on their relationship, Hermione was wonderfully what she could— _playfully_ —chuck at her friend. Unfortunately, however, they were in the weight room and surrounded only by weightlifting equipment, which were less than ideal projectiles.

“I’m fine, Ginny. I can handle it.”

“I’m serious,” Ginny said, pointing a finger at Hermione. “I don’t want you burning out on me. We need you around because otherwise it’s just my stinky brothers and Harry.”

“And what about Neville? You don’t like him?”

“No, we do; he’s a lot of fun—in the same way you’re fun, of course. Which is to say—not fun at all.”

“Hey—” Hermione said, eyeing the smallest dumbbell. It probably would not hurt her friend if she did not throw it too hard. “What happened to you wanting me around?”

“I said I liked you. I didn’t say you were _fun_ ,” Ginny explained.

“I don’t have to be fun; I just have to be the best version of myself,” Hermione huffed.

“And that’s why we love you.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury warning: brief discussion of traumatic injuries

“Plans have changed,” Snape said, stomping into his office.

Hermione had been doing her normal task of grading when her commanding officer had been called from the room for a reason unknown to her. But now that he returned, she could see that the reason could not have been a good one.

She put down his tablet. Snape was running his fingers through his hair as he paced across his room. Hermione wondered if the lankness of his hair could be attributed to his seemingly constant touching of it. It did not look bad, in her opinion, but could definitely be an explanation.

“Alright,” Snape said, smacking the butt of his left fist against his other palm. He had finally ceased his pacing, which was good since it was making Hermione dizzy. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? Where?” Hermione asked.

“My expertise has been requested on a base in the Phoenician Quadrant.”

The Phoenician Quadrant? She had really only heard that name in passing. What could possibly be all the way out there for them? With all of her responsibilities Hermione also did not have time to go gallivanting across the universe on adventures, but, at the same time, she could not help but wonder if it would be worthwhile.

“So… why am I coming with you?” It was not as if Hermione possessed any of that same expertise. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Snape shot her a look. “Because it would be foolish to leave you here.”

“Sir, if you have been given the order from on high to go somewhere, I’m sure they won’t mind if we end our session early.”

“No, you don’t understand. I want you to come with me because I think you could stand to _learn_ some things.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, feeling rather foolish herself now. “Well, that makes a lot of sense.” Was Snape intending for her to follow in his footsteps or something? She had not really entertained the notion, but maybe it was one she ought to consider.

“Well, are you coming or not?” Snape asked, referring to Hermione’s still-seated position.

“Right.”

“And you can leave that behind,” Snape said, gesturing to his tablet.

“But, sir, I have not finished these papers,” she said.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Fine. Bring it with you. Now let’s go; we have to hurry.”

To Hermione, hurry would mean run or, at the very least, a light jog, but Snape seemed to interpret that as a fast walk. Still, Hermione had to do an odd little walk-jog to keep up with his long strides. She knew it was not meant to embarrass her but it still embarrassed her somewhat to have to move in such a fashion. At least she hoped this was not some kind of weird powerplay. That wasn’t really Snape’s way of doing things, was it? He did not much seem to care about rank. Neither did anyone aboard the Hogwarts, for that matter.

They arrived at the hangar and to Hermione’s surprise, they did not go towards the smaller ships her team usually piloted nor did they go towards the larger ships they had taken with Hagrid, but instead to a sleek spacecraft—an officer’s ship, perhaps—that a couple of recruits were already fueling. Snape walked up to them to begin conversing while Hermione waited awkwardly off to the side.

Hermione wondered if she ought to tell anyone about her abrupt departure or if it really was hush-hush. Still, she figured regardless of this mission’s level of secrecy, her friends would definitely notice her absence so she sent a quick ping to Neville telling him that she was helping with something off the Hogwarts and not to worry.

Finally Snape finished speaking and walked up to the ship’s door. Curiously, he did not open it with his wristband, but rather by punching in a code. That seemed like a security flaw to Hermione, but before she could dwell on that much longer, Snape was ushering her inside.

Snape, as if he could read her mind, said, “Lieutenant McGonagall has been informed and will tell the others.” He sat down in the pilot’s seat. Hermione’s eyes darted to the co-pilot’s chair. Did this mean she would get to be co-pilot? For the whole trip?

“Are you going to sit down or not?” Snape asked, giving her a look.

“I am,” Hermione said. “I am just relishing this moment, is all.”

“Hmph,” Snape said, putting on his headset. Hermione was pleased to see that he had secured his harness. She made a mental note to tell Harry that even a cool officer like Snape practiced safe flying, but, then again, Harry would probably disagree with her assessment of “cool.” Hermione certainly thought he was cool though. What was more cool than being intelligent and wearing black? He was even aloof, the most important cool quality!

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Snape asked.

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked in return, directing the conversation away from something she would never admit to Snape’s face.

“I’ve told you already; the Phoenician Quadrant.”

“Yes, but that’s hundreds of thousands of light-years wide.”

Snape just smiled at her and started the ship’s engine as they were dragged from the hangar. Suddenly the realization of what exactly she was about to do hit her. She would be travelling through space, alone, with _Snape_. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest. _Alone with Snape_.

Hermione took out Snape’s tablet and continued marking essays once more to distract herself from her thoughts. It was not as if they had not been alone before, quite the contrary, in fact. They had just never been alone for such a length of time. And now they would be truly alone, not just alone in the same room, the vacuum of space their only other companion. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

“Are you really that excited to grade?” he asked. She looked up from the tablet.

“I was given a task; I will see it to the end.” Snape laughed. “What?”

“That is such a Granger thing to say.”

“Am I not Hermione Granger? Do you expect me to say ‘Snape’ things?”

“To be honest, I’m curious what you think a ‘Snape’ thing would be.”

“I am not going to fall for that again. I would say something like ‘all of these recruits are dunderheads.’ And you would respond, ‘Why do you think I think so little of you?’ And then I’d say, ‘Because of your attitude.’ And you’d say, ‘What attitude?’ Trust me, sir, we’ve already had this discussion; I know how it ends.” Snape laughed. “I am glad you find me amusing, sir.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not that I find you _ridiculous_ , necessarily. I had not realized you were so funny.”

“I disagree; experience has told me differently. If I am funny, it is precisely because people find me so ridiculous.”

“Those people are wrong. You are funny in your own right. And not in a ridiculous way. Not that there is anything wrong with being ridiculous. We are all ridiculous in our own ways.”

Hermione forgot all about her momentary shyness and finally looked at Snape. “Are you trying to make me feel better by spilling platitudes at me?”

“Platitudes? These words are coming from the depths of my soul. And you write them off as mere platitudes?” Hermione scoffed. “You know, in addition to being funnier than one might expect, you’re a lot more cynical too.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m not cynical? No, I am. We’re just two peas in a pod, aren’t we?”

“That’s another thing we have in common, apparently. We both always say the wrong thing.”

“Two peas in a pod is the wrong thing to say? What about two halves of a whole?”

“That’s worse. You see how that’s worse, right?” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know how you have this reputation as someone scary when you say things like ‘two peas in a pod’ and ‘let’s hop to it.’”

“In my defense, I did not set out to be intimidating.”

“Oh, you didn’t? And yet you don’t try to disabuse anyone of that notion?”

“No, I do not. And do you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“People will think twice about asking you for favors if they are scared of you.”

“That is useful, yes. But what if you could actually help someone? And they don’t ask you for help because they’re too scared?”

“Is this about your sleeping problem? Because I did offer to help—”

“One, I don’t have a sleeping problem anymore and two, this isn’t about me. This is about you. What if Lieutenant McGonagall needs your help?”

“Well, she knows me; she’s the exception. She and I are friends.”

“But you and Officer Lupin are not?” Hermione asked with a little laugh.

The temperature in the cabin of the ship changed instantaneously. One moment the two of them were sharing a light, friendly conversation and the next moment, ice cold. Hermione had been wondering if maybe Snape’s and Lupin’s rumored dislike of each other was overblown, but the silence that sat between them now was evidence of this.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Hermione said, taking out the tablet once more. But Snape said nothing, his jaw set in grim determination.

Hours passed and Hermione still did not know where she was going or why, but her neck was starting to hurt from bending over to look at her little screen. She rubbed at the crick of her neck and tried not to turn her gaze to Snape. They still had not talked since her blunder and Hermione had to wonder if this was the final blow for their odd relationship.

The two of them were always up and down. Out of anyone on the ship she had the most tumultuous relationship with him. She knew it was probably inappropriate, considering program decorum, but Snape had probably been drawn to her, so to speak, because he recognized some of himself in her. But maybe that was not a good basis for a friendship.

If you could even call it that, of course. A fresh recruit like her could never be friends with a commanding officer. The power imbalance alone would kill it where it lay.

She wondered if he regretted now bringing her on this trip and if he still would consider taking her under his wing, as he seemed to have been up until this point. He still had not told her what they were doing; maybe her comment was the reason why. That was disappointing, to say the least, especially since the comment had been so small.

Somewhere along their journey Hermione must have fallen asleep because she woke up however many hours later with a crick in her neck in a totally different spot. She really had to stop doing that. But the only problem was that she had a tendency to sleep whenever her mind was not busy working on assignments or solving problems.

“You sleep like the dead,” Snape said from beside her. Hermione sat up in her seat and readjusted her headset. Maybe he was not as angry with her as she had feared.

Hermione wiped the spare bit of dried drool from her face—definitely not embarrassing at all—and said, “Yes, well I guess I needed it.

Snape, on the other hand, looked like he could use a power nap himself. Had she been rude to sleep on the mission? Should she have been awake to have offered him a chance to rest? Then again, if he had really needed it, wouldn’t he have woken her up? That was how things were usually done.

“Well, you also have excellent timing because we have arrived at our destination.”

Hermione felt the ship stop and they were heralded over their secure channel. Snape informed them of his name and rank as well as Hermione’s before saying they had come from the Hogwarts. Snape’s stated reason was “classified” but the person in charge of clearing them for boarding accepted it as they pulled into the station’s hangar.

“I know I can’t know yet.” Snape made a sound to voice his assent. “But is it safe to assume this is something related to your specialty since they called on you specifically? I would just like to be prepared.”

“Granger,” he said. “It is not safe to assume _anything_.”

They were met outside their ship by a man in a lieutenant’s uniform, who greeted Snape with a salute followed by a polite handshake. Meanwhile, Hermione’s salute earned her only a nod of recognition.

As they were led down the barren, white corridors of this station, which felt simultaneously familiar and totally alien, Hermione’s ears began to ring. This ear ringing also made it difficult for Hermione to hear anything Snape and the other lieutenant were saying to each other. It did not help that the corridors were so narrow that Hermione could not walk in-line with the two men and instead had to trail behind like a forgotten member of the group.

This exclusion from the conversation gave Hermione time to think about everything that had occurred up until this point. Logically, she understood there were rules in place to dictate who knew what and when to prevent the spread of secret information too widely, but if she was about to know anyway, why not tell her then and there?

The unnamed lieutenant stopped at a sealed door before swiping his credentials and entering, Snape and Hermione following close behind. The antechamber they were led into was plain and tiled. Hermione recognized the room for what it was from her experience working at her parents’ hospital so she stood still as she allowed herself to be covered by a fine mist—a decontamination shower to remove pathogens from their persons.

Standing in that tiled room, Hermione realized Snape was full of it. She had had an inkling before but it had become ever more apparent when they left the decontamination shower to change into scrubs. Normally Hermione might have been embarrassed to change in front of Snape and a strange man, but they were too busy having that conversation Hermione couldn’t hear and she was too busy being annoyed at Snape.

He had been telling her that she should not assume anything, yet there they were, clearly getting ready to see someone high-risk who needed their help. She did not know if this was Snape’s fault or the Program’s, but, at that moment, she did not care. They could both be the target of her ire, for all the good it did.

The three of them walked into a final decontamination shower. And, as close as they were, Hermione still had not been told why she was there. It was common courtesy, wasn’t it? Not to mention the ringing that continued to affect her hearing. Even with her face shield on, she was trying not to look too miserable about everything. Because, if she was anything, Hermione wanted to be seen as a professional, who could handle anything that was thrown at her.

The patient that was waiting for them in the final room was not moving. Their skin had turned a stone gray, their limbs were frozen in unnatural positions, and their eyes stared unblinking at the lights that cast a strange, yellow glow about the room. And yet, Hermione knew they were alive from their steady vitals updating on the screens above their bed.

Hermione waited for more instruction, but Snape and the lieutenant were standing off to the side and talking amongst themselves. Hermione wanted to yell that she was also there and ask to be included, but that would hardly be considered professional. So, she did what she was trained to do.

“Hello,” Hermione said, as she approached, smiling under her mask. “How are you today?”

There was, of course, no response from the patient, but Hermione used her closer proximity to this person to make observations. The closer she looked, the more she realized the gray tinge to their skin was not uniform but instead made up of tiny, differently colored scales, or, perhaps more accurately, like the scutes of a turtle’s shell. These “scutes” were porous and reminiscent of pumice.

Hermione checked their chart and saw that their name was Corporal Norris but there was no information on there about how they had ended up in this position. Though perhaps that was not out of the ordinary. Maybe they had been on a planet and caught some parasite. That would make the most sense and would explain Snape’s involvement.

“Come along, Private Granger,” she heard Snape say. “We’re leaving.”

Hermione wanted to retort that they had done nothing and that Snape had just been talking with the lieutenant the whole time, but she kept her mouth shut. Perhaps they had been discussing care for the patient, but then why had Hermione been brought along in the first place? It was not as if she had done or learned anything.

But Hermione followed obediently, leaving the room, with its harsh yellow lighting behind. She went through the motions—showering once, changing back into her uniform, showering a second time—thinking about all she had seen and trying to ignore that ringing.

Hermione expected that they would go the way they came, but instead the lieutenant led them down a different hallway. She thought it was odd, but, then again, she had no idea what was happening anyway, so she was silent. It was not fun but Hermione would never have gotten this far anyway if she had not learned to shut up and fall into line.

Then, the surroundings changed completely and they were no longer walking through empty, quiet walkways. They had entered a large, open room that was loud with chatter and footsteps. The hall was filled with injured people in beds. She wondered if maybe they had come to this place for a reason, instead of taking the original route back, but, no, the lieutenant and Snape continued to walk at a clipped pace without stopping.

Hermione looked at the patients—as best as she could without falling behind—and many were gravely injured, missing appendages and limbs, and were all covered in bandages. She had gotten into her fair share of scrapes already, but still, she had not expected to see medical staff running around like their comrades had just been in a battle.

While they would not have gotten into a physical altercation, there was always the possibility of an accident. Or maybe they had met hostile, extraterrestrial lifeforms. The Phoenician Quadrant really must have been a dangerous place, either that, or the rest of the galaxy was like this and their instructors truly had been sending them to the safest parts.

But before she knew it, she and Snape were back in the hangar and the lieutenant was shaking Snape’s hand before turning to Hermione.

“Nice to meet you, Private Granger,” he said, even though they had not spoken two words to each other previously.

“Likewise, Lieutenant—”

“Lieutenant Shacklebolt,” he responded, grinning easily.

“Lieutenant Shacklebolt,” she said mirroring his expression.

Snape inputted the code to their ship and they boarded, got into their seats, and prepared to depart in silence. At this point, Hermione was used to the silence. Mercifully, however, it seemed the ringing in her ears had stopped, at least for the time being.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked her through the headset.

“Nothing,” Hermione said, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

“Certainly doesn’t seem that way,” Snape said, over the roar of the starting engines. “At least, I’m assuming based on the way you’re grinding your teeth.”

“It is not safe to assume anything,” she retorted.

“Oh, so you really are mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” Hermione said. Why was she fighting with him like this? Wasn’t this how couples fought in the stories her grandmother had loved to consume? First her comment about Lupin and then his near-total silence. Why couldn’t they just communicate like adults? Jesus Christ.

“I am not _mad_ ,” she clarified. “Just a little confused why I was dragged away from the Hogwarts to go on a mission where nothing was explained to me and I learned absolutely nothing.”

“Really? You learned nothing?”

“How would you expect me to learn something? No one said anything to me. I did nothing. And we were there for a little more than an hour. Was I _supposed_ to have learned something?”

“I find that hard to believe. What did you see?” Hermione wanted to shoot him a dirty look. Why couldn’t he just say what he meant?

“I saw the person, who we didn’t even help, by the way—”

“Corporal Norris will be just fine; I’ve seen to that. I meant, After that.”

Hermione could not help herself. She did glare at him for that one. They had barely been in that room. What had he anticipated her learning?

“There were a lot of people in beds, but I hardly think that’s unusual given the nature of the station.” Snape gave her a look that told her he disagreed with her. Hermione made Snape’s signature look and quirked an eyebrow at him. “So, it _is_ unusual?”

Snape nodded in response. Hermione made a motion like she wanted him to continue, but he had returned his focus to the front of the cockpit and said nothing more.

Finally, however, Hermione understood. This had to be like when Snape would run with her on the track. He had brought her along to give her information under the pretense of visiting the person with that horrible space parasite. So, two questions remained: What had happened to those people? And why was Hermione not supposed to know?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warnings  
> Happy Birthday 31st, Taylor Swift 🥳🥳🥳 I hope, wherever you are, that you are proud that your work has inspired me to write a story about wizards in space doings _things_. And thank you for writing another album to inspire me more 🥰🥰🥰

Hours later and Hermione was still thinking about all she had seen on that station—from the person who appeared to be turning to stone to the many, mangled bodies to Snape and Lieutenant Shacklebolt shutting her out entirely. But perhaps she was thinking a little too hard, because she had also developed a throbbing headache. 

The lights in the cockpit were not helping in this regard so she closed her eyes to their visual assault. She also rubbed her temples lightly to stem the tide of pain blossoming there. But if it did not ease up soon, she might excuse herself to go to the back and grab something for it.

“Headache?” Snape said, breaking the long stretch of silence that had persisted between the two of them.

Hermione nodded. She had preferred the silence. But he was as perceptive as ever.

“You’ve been sitting there, clenching your jaw the entire time, so it’s not surprising.’’

Hermione was not amused. “Okay, so it’s my fault?” Clearly she was still not in a good mood. But perhaps the tension in her face had also caused the ringing in her ears. It was not something she had ever experienced or heard of before, but she still had no other explanation for that rather strange occurrence.

“No, it happens to some of us occasionally. Have you ever tried massaging your temporomandibular joint?”

Hermione just blinked at the man sitting beside her.

“You know, the joint in your skull that allows your jaw to move—”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“No, yes, I realized it too late. I am so used to teaching this stuff.”

Hermione softened at that. “No, I’ve never massaged that joint before.” I also don’t usually clench my jaw this much, she thought. Someone seemed to have that effect on her.

She rubbed at the spot a little but gave up soon after. She had already made up her mind about getting some painkillers so she was only doing it to humor him.

But Snape tsked at her. “No, not like that,” he said, removing his hands from the controls to show her on his own face. Hermione’s eyes kept darting to the steering. “Relax; it’s on autopilot.”

“I don’t trust the autopilot.”

Snape chuckled. “You’re still not doing it, though,” he said, referring to her efforts at facial massage.

“Fine,” Hermione said, her eyes still firmly glued to the controls.

“No, that’s still wrong,” he said. “Plus, you still have your headset on.” Snape reached out to slide her headset off her head and surprised her further by enveloping her—much smaller—hands in his large, warm ones. Gently, he guided her hands in small circles around the area in front of her ears.

Hermione was too shocked to say anything—not that it would have mattered anyway, since her headset was resting around her neck. She was wholly unused to this kind of contact from any person, let alone from someone she had only met in the last couple of months. But she was also—against her better judgment—enjoying his touch far too much to protest.

She had finally taken her eyes off the steering to look at Snape, who appeared entirely consumed by his task. Hermione used this opportunity to look at him without fear of him glaring in return. She could see clearly the black hairs that formed his arched eyebrows over his dark—almost black—eyes and the crooked slope of his hooked nose. Black stubble was already beginning to dot his sharp chin and jaw.

His dark brown eyes met her lighter ones and she could feel the heat returning to her cheeks. Still, his gaze seemed to hold hers fast. She wondered if he could feel the flush under her skin or her hands getting sweaty under his.

“Better?” Snape asked, letting go of her hands. And with that break in skin contact, Hermione also dropped their eye contact.

“Yes,” Hermione lied. A dull pain still radiated in her head, but she did not want to tell him that and hurt his feelings, even if she did kind of want him to touch her again. “Do you want me to take over? You’ve been awake for awhile now.”

“Do I look that exhausted?” Snape countered.

“No,” Hermione lied. “I am just trying to be nice.”

Snape seemed to consider her offer for a moment before he said, “Alright. I suppose it is only fair that you get to hear me snore after I got to hear you.”

Hermione muttered, “I don’t snore,” and rolled her eyes but unbuckled and stood up from her chair before Snape did the same. She was a little nervous, however, because this was the first time she had ever been in the pilot’s seat.

Snape seemed to sense her apprehension because he said, “Autopilot is on. And you’ve had the training; you’ll be fine.”

Hermione did not find that particularly reassuring but she tried to remember that all she had learned and all of the time she had logged in the simulator. But still her eyes kept darting from the sensors to the windshield. 

Once she had gotten everything under control and the velocity and heading were staying at a steady rate, she could focus on making conversation. Now that she was in the pilot’s chair and controlling the ship; she felt like she should also control the conversation. But what to talk about? After that _moment_ , her brain was more than a little befuddled.

As stupid as it was, she wanted to impress Snape with her intellectual prowess so she needed to choose something intellectually fertile. Actually, it was more than just stupid. It was annoying. He was annoying. What was wrong with her? Was she still that desperate to please him?

She turned to ask him about his latest research endeavors, but when she did, she saw his eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed. The rapidity at which he had fallen asleep was odd, to say the least. He had mentioned problems with his insomnia, but he was out in an instant. Hermione might have assumed that he would have taken a sleeping pill except everyone—including an officer—would get in big trouble for mixing flying and medically-induced sleep. It was certainly a mystery.

As they neared the Hogwarts, Hermione realized that her headache had disappeared entirely. Initially Hermione’s plan had been to wait for Snape to fall asleep, get up, grab something for the pain, and quickly get to the controls. But Snape had thrown a wrench into that plan by dozing off so soon and the fact that she was also no longer in pain meant his massage had worked.

She had been trying not to dwell too much on it, her hands in his or the way he looked at her with his unflinching gaze. Even thinking about it after the fact, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stick straight up and small, pleasant shivers travelling up her spin. But it did not mean anything—that was his job, after all. 

Hermione chanced a glance at Snape then. He, unlike Hermione, had been smart enough to recline his chair and probably looked much more dignified than she had. Once she noticed he had fallen asleep, she had turned off the lights, but a single light from above the cockpit still illuminated his face against the darkness.

He looked almost peaceful and totally unlike he was about to bite someone’s head off at a moment’s notice. The creases had disappeared from his face and Hermione was once more reminded that she did not know how old he was. His chest rose and fell to an inaudible rhythm. The light was apparently bothering him now because he turned to face the other direction. Hermione smiled despite herself.

Snape woke up not long before they docked in the Hogwarts’ hangar—Hermione did not know how he had managed that feat—but he insisted that she land. Hermione protested but he kept persisting. It was a bit rough, but to her immense relief, she pulled it off without a hitch.

“Well done, Granger,” he said. “You should pat yourself on the back.”

Hermione did not know if he had been kidding.

They parted ways without a second word. Totally disoriented about the time of day after that mission, Hermione checked her watch and saw it was dinner time. That was a small mercy, she thought, because it meant she could go to bed soon.

In the mess hall her friends waved her over excitedly as soon as one of the twins saw her approach. In the past she might have been embarrassed, but now she just smiled and waved in return.

“Thank God you’re back,” Ron said when she returned with her tray of reconstituted imitation steak and mashed potatoes slathered in watery gravy.

“Was there a concern I wouldn’t come back?” Hermione asked, digging into her food with unusual gusto. When was the last time she had eaten?

“Yes! We had not even known why you had gone. Just a single ping to Longbottom telling us that you’re going on a mission with _Snape_. You know? The guy who hates everyone?”

“Well, as you can see, I have not been murdered.”

“ _This time_ ,” Ron said, under his breath.

“Sorry?” Hermione said.

“Just count yourself lucky this time, Mione,” Ron said. “Next time you might not be so lucky.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and caught a weird look Ginny was giving her. Ginny just winked before returning to her own mashed potatoes. It was odd but Hermione made a mental note to ask her about it later.

“Hermione?” Harry said after dinner. “Did you do the essay for piloting yet?”

“Are you asking me if I did an essay for a class that is supposed to be your specialty?”

“Yes, well, I might be a lot better at it practically, but you’re so much better at writing than I am.”

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Harry? If you butter me up like that, I’m sure to help you out,” Hermione said sarcastically. Harry looked crestfallen. Hermione sighed. “Fine, you can look at my essay. But don’t make it obvious.”

Normally Hermione would be opposed to such blatant academic dishonesty, but, as Harry had rightfully pointed out, writing essays would not exactly help someone fly a spaceship any better.

“What is this?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean? Isn’t it my essay?” She had not been worried about Harry finding anything embarrassing or revealing on her tablet so she had just handed it to him and—since she was so organized—hoped he would find the essay in her piloting folder.

“The Mar— _Marauder’s_ Map?” Harry said, squinting at the screen. “What is that?”

“What are you talking about? Give that to me.” Hermione did her own squinting at the screen. “It looks like a map of the ship. Not terribly weird, if you consider how hard it is to find certain things on here.”

Sure, Hermione did not remember a map of the ship on her tablet because of all of the times she had had to ask people how to get places. And sure, she did know why it was called the Marauder’s Map, but perhaps it was a tongue-in-cheek name. But maybe it was something they had added to everyone’s tablet to avoid any future confusion.

“Do you want me to find the essay for you?” Hermione offered, closing out of the map to find the correct folder. “Here it is,” she said.

“Thanks, Hermione; you’re the best,” Harry said, looking sheepish. “I hope I am not interrupting you from finishing your work in the meantime.”

“No, I got it all done on the mission. And, in any case, I have to shower; I stink.”

Hermione shook her wristband under the sensor and let the cold water wash over her. Her thoughts were all over the place—from what she had seen at that base, to Snape touching her, to the mystery of the map on her tablet. But she had to focus on getting clean or else she might use up her five minutes.

She toweled off and walked into the bunk area, where Ginny and Luna were sharing a tender moment, their foreheads touching. They straightened and then relaxed when they realized it was only Hermione.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” they echoed.

Hermione was putting her soap back under her bed when a new thought occurred to her. “Ginny?”

“Yes?”

“That face you made at dinner? What was that about?” Hermione asked rubbing lotion into her skin.

“Oh, that,” Ginny said with a snort.

“Yes, _that_. Care to explain what it meant?”

“I could… But I don’t think you would like it that much.”

“Well, now that you say that, I just want to know even more.”

“Okay,” Ginny said. “But you’re not allowed to be angry with me.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Alright. Try me.”

“I made that face because you _like_ Snape.”

Hermione snorted. “Really? This again? Honestly, Ginny… He’s—he’s—”

“Trust me, I didn’t want to believe it either. But the fact that you don’t complain about your sessions with Snape despite Ron and Harry complaining about theirs non-stop. And the fact that you always defend him. Oh, and not to mention that you told Fred and George that ‘Snape has a soft spot for you.’ It’s all a bit suspicious, if you ask me. I should’ve realized you had a thing for people with authority.”

“Well, your suspicion is unearned. He and I barely get along at the best of times. That doesn’t sound like a love affair, _if you ask me_ ,” she said, trying not to remember him putting his warm hands on her face, his dark eyes on hers.

“Sure,” Ginny said, raising both of her eyebrows. “Whatever you say, Hermione. But I never implied you were having an _affair_ , only a crush. Is there more you’re not telling us?”

Hermione’s cheeks became hot. She wanted to tell her friend to stop being so ridiculous but Ginny had prefaced her comment by asking Hermione to not get mad, so what did Hermione expect really? It was not as if that meant she was about to say something truthful. So, Hermione finished getting dressed without another word to Ginny or Luna.

When Hermione had returned to the table where Harry was struggling—based on his facial expression—on his essay, she noticed that Ron had also joined them.

“Er,” Harry said, when she sat down. “I may have read a private message you received.”

Hermione’s stomach sank. It was probably from Snape, wasn’t it? She had not noticed the message on her wrist when she had taken a shower, but she checked there immediately to see what he could have said and hoped it was not too personal.

“Oh,” she said, when she found it. “It’s from Hagrid.”

“Yes. Who did you think it was from?” Harry asked.

“No one,” Hermione said quickly, her heartbeat slowing. She hated to admit it, but maybe Ginny was onto something when she had said Hermione liked Snape. But this was a problem she would have to tackle later.

“Okay…” Harry said. “But he mentioned me and Ron so that’s why I didn’t think it would be too much trouble if I read it.”

“Oh, he did? Oh, right, that.” Hermione was mentally kicking herself. It was pretty rude of her to ask Hagrid to watch Crookshanks and then for her to not visit him in return. “Are you interested in going?”

“You did what?” Ron said later on their way to Hagrid’s office. “You broke a rule? What happened to ‘the rules exist for a reason?’”

“Shh,” Hermione scolded. “Keep it down. Yes, I did. But it was one rule and it was for his safety.”

“I don’t know, Mione. Break one rule here and one rule there, and pretty soon you’ll be breaking rules right and left. I think we have a troublemaker on our hands.”

Hermione did not know if she had ever known someone so overjoyed to see her. Based on Ron’s and Harry’s expressions, this was the case for them as well.

“Hermione!” Hagrid said. “And you brought Ron and Harry too!”

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. They were not used to hearing their first names from an officer and neither was Hermione. There might have been that one time with Lupin, but she was pretty sure that was it. Besides Hagrid, of course, who seemed to have little regard for decorum.

“Of course! My teammates were so excited when I told them.” Hermione nudged them both, in what she hoped would be a discreet manner.

“Totally. Can’t wait to meet Crickshanks. Ow! Did you step on my—”

Hagrid, to his credit, seemed oblivious to the whole encounter and puttered around his office—careful not to knock anything every with his large frame—and serving them all pieces of cake and tea. Hermione had warned her friends about the quality of his snacks, but they were all polite enough to take small bites.

“Now, the reason you all are here,” he said, sliding open his drawer to reveal a sleeping Crookshanks. Crookshanks blinked against the light disturbing his slumber as Hagrid set him on his desk. Then he stood up and stretched before he sort-of crab-walked over to Hermione.

She was petting him normally until he caught sight of Ron, upon which he began sputtering angrily. To save her crewmate from a trip to the medbay with inexplicable injuries, Hermione scooped him up and cradled him against her chest. Almost immediately he began vibrating gently and closed his huge amber eyes, returning to sleep.

“You know, I can’t believe it.” Hermione looked up, expecting to see that Hagrid was talking about Crookshanks, but instead he was looking at Harry. “I know we’ve met once before but I still can’t believe how much you resemble your father.”

Harry had not been paying attention so Hagrid’s comment caught him off guard. “Are you talking about _me_?”

Hagrid chuckled. “Of course, I am. I sure am not talking about, Ron. Sorry, Ron, but you favor your mother.”

“None taken,” Ron said stunned.

“Hagrid, you knew my parents?”

“Of course. I knew your parents! I knew Ron’s parents too. I taught them all. If you’ve been around as long as I have you do tend to meet entire families. Except for Hermione, of course, I don’t know your parents.”

“No, that makes sense. But I don’t look like either of them, really.”

Harry set his tea onto Hagrid’s desk. Hermione had practically had to drag Harry there and here he was, getting the information he had been searching for.

“Hagrid, what—what were they like? My parents, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Not at all! They were the best. Your dad was a bit of a rule _bender_ —like your brothers, I reckon,” he said, turning to Ron. “So it’s good he was so damn charming. But your mum… she was one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. Save for our Hermione, of course,” Hagrid said with a wink.

Hermione did not know why, but she felt herself become jealous of Harry’s mom. A dead woman! It really was illogical, but Hermione hated being compared to other women.

Harry seemed to be processing this information just fine, but then he asked, “Do you know how they died then?”

For anyone else, Hermione might have made a comment about how terribly morbid such a question was but she could hardly blame Harry.

“My aunt and uncle never told me and when I pressed them, they said the Program never gave them a cause of death.”

Hagrid looked deeply uncomfortable then and took a bite of cake before adjusting his position in his chair. “Well, you have to understand,” he said, lowering his voice, “we lost a lot of good people in those skirmishes and Sirius—”

“Sirius _Black_?” Hermione and Harry said at the same time. Hermione did not even remember that Harry had known that name but she supposed their little talk had left an impression on him.

“I should not have said that,” Hagrid said, taking another bite of his cake and washing it down with a big gulp of tea. “I should _not_ have said that.”

“What? Why not?” Harry asked.

“What about Sirius Black?” Hermione asked. She figured he had probably coasted his way to the top of the Program on name recognition alone. Only, everything about him seemed to have been wiped from their databases. There had to be more to that story. “Hagrid, what happened? This is about Sirius Black, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Hagrid said, grabbing Crookshanks from Hermione. “But you three have to go.”

“Hagrid…” Hermione pleaded.

“No. Not only will I get in trouble, but you will as well. Trust me; it’s better this way.”

They walked from the office before Hagrid slammed the door behind them.

“Boys,” Hermione said. “Meet me on the track tomorrow morning.”

Ron groaned. “Do we have to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: not a doctor* When I get headaches from clenching my jaw too much, I rub my jaw on the inside of my mouth but I didn't think Snape and Hermione were ready for fingers-in-mouth action yet 😂


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warning

Harry and Ron were late. Hermione should have expected as much, given their history, but she would have hoped they would take her words seriously and be on-time. There was also her fear that Snape would show up and then they would have to deal with not being overheard by him, especially since _he_ was one of the topics she wanted to cover.

Nevertheless Hermione did her stretches and did a mental run-through of everything she wanted to go over. Most importantly, she had to tell them what she saw on that station on her outing with Snape. But she also had to talk to them about what they knew surrounding Sirius Black. The name had come up too often to not be important. It might have been confirmation bias on her part, but something was not adding up.

They appeared finally, like Hermione had willed them there, with bedhead and bleary eyes. Hermione slowed as they approached.

“I trust you know why I asked you here,” Hermione said, cryptically.

“Not really,” Ron said. “Harry just dragged me out of bed and I did not have any recourse.”

“Honestly, Ronald. It’s like you have no sense for mystery. Something’s afoot and we have to get to the bottom of it.”

“I thought we just had to do what we were told,” Ron deadpanned, clearly making a jab at her.

Hermione pursed her lips. “Normally I would go along with that, yes. But Snape—”

“That guy again? ‘Mione, he’s the _worst_. Tell me again why we should trust him?”

“This is what I wanted to tell you about! I think something is happening and I think he was trying to warn me.”

“What sort of something?” Ron asked.

“Something… bad.”

“Oh, well, that’s helpful— _bad_.”

“Ron, I’m serious! World-changing, earth-shatteringly bad!”

“Alright, if that’s the case, then why haven’t we heard anything about it?”

“I don’t know!” Hermione said, her exasperation with her teammate mounting. Why did he have to question everything she said and did? “But I also don’t think that is totally true. Remember when they paraded us in front of the generals and berated us for not telling them about what happened on Reia-12? What if the two things are related?”

“Which one was Reia-12 again?”

“The scary spider planet! Honestly, Ronald…”

“I still don’t understand why they wouldn’t tell us any of this,” Ron said, the sound of exertion creeping into his voice.

“They don’t want to worry us? Cause mass panic? Maybe it’s because they have most of it contained in the Phoenician Quadrant.”

“Except Reia-12 is nowhere near the Phoenician Quadrant,” Harry said, finally speaking up.

“The universe is a big place but doesn’t mean we wouldn’t fight the battles on many fronts,” Hermione said.

“So, you’re saying they sent us into a warzone? Without telling us?” Harry retorted.

“No, I am saying they didn’t know it was a warzone and were just as surprised as we were. Which is also why they were so disappointed that we didn’t call for back-up. They were probably hoping to gather intel or nip this thing in the bud.”

“Alright, ignoring everything else—which is very hard to do, by the way—how do you explain what happened to us? Whoever was on Reia-12 with us clearly did not wish us harm. Seems like a pretty shitty warzone, if you ask me.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. But when they give us all the big guns—not just Ron—don’t be surprised.”

“So, what does this have to do with my mother and father?” Harry asked.

“I never said it did,” Hermione replied.

“I hardly think you would invite us here at the crack of dawn if you didn't."

Hermione bit her lip. “I mean, it’s just a theory. Nothing concrete.”

“Well, come on, then. Out with it.”

“The same insurgents who killed them are the ones coming back now.” This was Hermione’s most daring assertion and would mean the worst for them if it was true. And yet her teammates did not seem as shocked as she would have hoped.

“So why didn’t Hagrid just say they were killed by enemy combatants? Why did he mention _Sirius Black_?” Harry said the final name under his breath, even if there was no chance of him being overheard.

“I don’t know. Maybe he fucked up and got them killed. He was on your dad’s team, after all. Maybe that’s why we don’t hear about it anymore—the Black family is embarrassed. But, in any case, we need to keep our eyes and ears peeled.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ron said, saluting her.

But it was not Ron that worried Hermione. She looked to Harry, who seemed to be off on his own world. He had the most to gain from any information they could gather surrounding his parents and their untimely demise; Hermione knew he was desperate for it. At least she could count on that.

* * *

“Someone’s distracted,” Lupin said, extending her a hand to help her off her back. They were practicing sparring and she was getting her ass kicked more often than not.

“Sorry, sir. Just dreading seeing Officer Snape later today,” she said, letting go of his hand. Speaking of Snape, she was perennially surprised at how much colder Lupin's was than Snape’s. It didn’t mean anything—everyone had a different equilibrium—but it still came as a shock.

“Then do I have good news for you. Apparently you three—you, Harry, and Ron—have been taught your lessons sufficiently, so you won’t have to spend any more time alone with him.”

Hermione mimed like she was wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. “That’s a relief,” she said, forcing a smile. “I hope your own experience with Ron was not painful.”

“Why would it be? I rather like Private Weasley.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Hermione said, backtracking. “I just meant I hope it wasn’t too mundane.”

“It was not. That I can assure you,” Lupin said, before adding, “But I heard that you had to go on a solo mission with Snape as well.”

She exhaled loudly. “You heard about that? I was lucky I came out of that experience alive,” she added, thinking about what Ron had said the other day.

Her pandering earned her a chuckle from Lupin. “And where did you go?”

Hermione searched his face. She did not detect any hint of malice, but his curiosity was strange, to say the least. Was he digging for information? Had he not been privy to this?

She found herself asking the question that she would have never previously dared to ask in the past: Was Lupin, despite his status as her superior officer, trustworthy? Was there more to Snape’s seemingly superficial dislike of the man?

Hermione wondered if she asked him, if Snape would tell her what it was that made him hate Lupin so much. She highly doubted it. He had not even bothered to tell her that their sessions had come to a close. And whatever information he did give her only ever had the tendency to make her more confused, make her ask more questions. Snape was more than a little infuriating in that way.

“Consultation. In the Roman Quadrant. Officer Snape wanted me to learn the ropes,” she lied. She was surprised at how easily the lie tumbled from her lips when it was normally so difficult for her. But if Lupin knew otherwise, he said nothing and seemed content with her the story she had given him. And they continued sparring without another word.

And sure enough, at dinner, when she asked Ron and Harry if they were busy that evening, they told her they both were free before promptly requesting help on their assignments.

Hermione debated making an excuse to visit Snape in his office but she also remembered what Ginny had said and did not want to raise suspicions. Besides, she did not know what he was doing that evening—perhaps he was going on another interstellar adventure with another recruit.

Without her grading sessions with Snape, Hermione found herself with more time on her hands even after she did a couple of reps with Ginny and Luna. And despite her full day, morning run, and weightlifting, Hermione’s mind would not shut off when she got into her bunk. In the past she might have been worried about homework or tests, but now she was desperately trying to piece together a puzzle that might end in a full-blown war. And still, what could she do about it at that moment?

Hermione’s first instinct was to do what she had done in the past when she was stressed out of her mind. But even if she was finally comfortable enough showering around her cohort, she did not think she could muster the courage—or horniness, for that matter—to do _that_ with all of them around, even if they were all sound asleep.

So, she bent over the edge of her bunk and reached for her tablet. Under the cover of her blanket, Hermione flipped through the many files on there, looking for something sufficiently boring to focus on and hopefully lull her to sleep. Her current plan was to read her most dense textbook and hope for the best.

* * *

It had not worked. For some reason, 2AM-Hermione had become engrossed in the negotiation of treaties for mining resources and she figured she had stayed up much later than she would have if she had just stared at the ceiling, counting sheep. And in the light of day, she could barely remember what she had read anyway. She would have to have a word with 2-AM Hermione at another time.

Tired as she was, Hermione rose from her bed, avoided the creaky rung on her bunk’s ladder, and put on her running outfit to do her usual, weekend routine. She ran with her loudest, most heart-pounding music in an—admittedly, scientifically-baseless—attempt to get her blood pumping and her brain awake. But if another full day of activity could not cure her of her insomnia, she might need to resort to other methods.

After a heart-stopping cold shower and alone in the mess hall, Hermione enjoyed her gloopy oatmeal and her searing hot coffee that had been spiced to celebrate the season, a season that held no external markers for her on a sterile, climate-controlled spaceship. She had not considered this when she left home, but thinking about it now, she was missing the tilt of the Earth as it orbited the sun. But aboard the Hogwarts, their orbit brought little variation—only an occasional change of scenery out their windows.

The calendar on her tablet told her it was almost December, not that that meant anything to her now. Except, of course, for the week off they all had at the end of the month. Hermione supposed that was something that she could look forward to, at the very least. She would most likely use that time to get ahead in everything, which was not particularly relaxing, but it would make subsequent weeks much more bearable.

Hermione returned her dishes to the conveyor belt which would carry them to the back where the poor souls on KP duty would take care of them. She was once more thankful that she had the relatively less messy job of treating members of her cohort’s bumps and bruises. But then her experience on that station made her wonder if it was going to be a lot worse than that soon.

She was still thinking about this when she was sitting in Snape’s class shortly thereafter. They were still talking about parasites. Hermione knew the topic was close to Snape’s heart—for whatever reason—but she still did not understand why they weren’t learning more practical things. Sure, she supposed that practical stuff was covered in field medicine but there was still more to learn beyond making a sling and deworming someone.

“Private Granger,” a deep voice drawled beside her. She looked up to see Snape towering over her. “If you’re not going to pay attention in class, I don’t know why you even bothered to show up at all.”

“Sorry, sir,” Hermione said, straightening up. “It will not happen again. I promise.”

“Let’s hope you keep this promise better than the last promise you made.”

“Sir?”

“Did you or did you not promise to pare down your essays so they weren’t rambling, incoherent messes?”

The class erupted into laughter and Hermione felt her face get hot. She fought the urge to sink down deeper into her chair.

“That’s what I thought. Meet me after class, Private Granger.”

Hermione tried to keep a straight face as Snape continued to lecture about exactly how the parasite could overtake a host’s motor function, but she felt her embarrassment slowly transforming into anger. What the Hell was Snape’s problem? There was no reason to be such a dick to her even if he did have his bastard-persona to uphold. She knew he didn’t mean it, but that didn’t mean she had to put up with it.

When class had finished without further incident and everyone had left—but not before Percy Weasley gave her a shit-eating grin—Hermione pushed in her chair and walked up to Snape’s desk.

“I already know what you’re going to say, sir, and I don’t care.”

Snape closed his mouth. “Pardon me?”

“I know you’re going to give me the bare minimum apology and say you’re just maintaining everyone’s perception of you, but I don’t care. You can’t treat me like—like a friend one moment and the next moment like I’m the mud on your shoe. Especially if you humiliate me in front of my peers.”

Hermione knew she was being overly familiar—with a superior officer, no less—and she knew she was being over-dramatic but she had had with this man and his near-constant heel turns. So she did the very same thing and spun on her own heel and headed toward the door.

“Granger, wait,” he said, but Hermione kept going. “Hermione—”

The first name might have been enough had Snape not also reached her in time to grab her by the hand. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked down to see her relatively tiny wrist encircled by his long fingers. She could already feel the warmth from this sudden contact sink deep into her flesh.

She was so shocked by the gesture that she did not pull away, even if his touch had practically burned her. Still, she was mad at him and even madder that he had not let her storm out. Even if her parents had frequently told her that was one of her worst traits and made having productive disagreements nigh impossible.

“Hermione,” he said again, practically pleading.

“Severus,” she said dryly. But she regretted it immediately since he now had a look on his face like she had slapped him. Hermione knew she was approaching dangerous territory but her temper made her lash out. Not to mention the fact that he had started it by using her given name first. Still, she doubted she would ever use that name ever again.

Soon enough, however, Snape’s features returned to their blank, almost bored state and he said, “Can we do this anywhere but here?” He closed the distance between them. “They won’t hear us in my office. Then you can much more fully give me a peace of your mind,” he said, barely above a whisper.

He was so close then that she could feel the tickle of his breath on her skin. Hermione shivered despite herself. The promise of being able to yell at him was probably enticing enough but she also had been knocked so off-kilter by his proximity that she nodded without much more consideration.

Snape dropped his hold of her wrist and gestured for her to go ahead of him. Hermione schooled her features as she walked through the medbay, smiling at everyone she passed. Her classmates, however, gave her a look like they were glad that it was her, and not them, being escorted from the premises by Officer Snape. Little did they know that _she_ would be the one doing the dressing down.

Inside the stark office that had become so familiar, Hermione did not bother sitting down, instead opting to fight her battles standing up. Snape also went this approach, though on the other side of his desk, likely to put some difference between them. Lots of good that did—Hermione could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin.

He made a gesture indicating to her that she could recommence her fury. But when she opened her mouth, she determined the journey to his office had seriously knocked the wind out of her sails. She still remembered what she had wanted to say but the anger behind the words had seemingly evaporated. That was the other bad thing about her temper: it was ephemeral. It came in with the breeze but left just as quickly.

She glanced up at him to see the quizzical look on his face, the corners of his mouth downturned and one eyebrow raised.

“Why—why do you have to act like you hate me?” she said finally.

“I know, I know,” she added when he didn’t say anything. “You don’t want people to like you. But I thought you liked me. I thought we liked each other. The least you could do is... _feign indifference_.”

Hermione hated how vulnerable she sounded. She felt like she was making a big deal out of nothing. There was nothing in the rules that said that Snape had to be nice to her. In fact, he could probably be outright abusive if he truly wanted to. She should not have gotten angry; she should not have said anything to him.

Snape sighed and turned around. To look at what, Hermione had no idea, since his walls were just as barren as the rest of the ship’s. Why couldn’t he look at her?

“I think, as per usual, that you’ve hit the nail on the head. I do like you.” Snape hung his head. He paused for a stretch that made Hermione think he was leaving it at that. “Which is probably why I overcompensated. I don’t want it to seem like I’m favoring you. But I went too far that time. And maybe other times as well.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am sorry for insulting you. I will work on indifference in the future; I owe you that much.”

Hermione understood then why Snape had been staring at the wall. “I accept your apology,” she said looking down at her clasped hands.

He turned around then, a look of relief momentarily crossing his face. He probably did not intend for her to catch that, but Hermione had become quite adept at reading the minor quirks and twitches that made up his expressions.

“I have a question,” Hermione said, wanting to move the conversation somewhere less awkward.

“I might have an answer,” he responded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Of course he did_ , she thought. That man was about as clear as her morning bowl of oatmeal. And, in truth, she had more questions than what she was about to ask, but she still did not trust Snape to give her information. He would do it on his own terms, in his own time, but maybe, in the future, she could convince him to be more forthcoming with her. She just had to play her cards right.

“I thought the track was the only place aboard the ship where we couldn’t be overheard. Is that not the case?”

“No, our offices are also unmonitored—perk of being an officer.”

Hermione supposed, in hindsight, that meant she was lucky, since she had given Hagrid a smuggled alien in his. Maybe she should have been smarter than that.

“But,” Snape added, “I do still like meeting you on the track. Nothing wrong with a little physical fitness.”

Hermione smiled, glad they had returned to their normal. “No, indeed.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warning but warning for self-indulgent twaddle 😄

Another late night passed during which Hermione had not remembered falling asleep. But that morning, when she had awoken, she had a vague sense of what had transpired in her dream. It was similar to one she had had in the past where she was leaning on the sill of the windows aboard the Hogwarts, looking out into space, when she was roughly pushed from behind. Once more she was falling—still an impossibility without gravity—but this time, rather than continuing to fall, someone grabbed her wrist, abruptly stopping her descent. Then the dream ended before she could look up into her savior’s face.

Hermione opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling above her bunk. She allowed herself this opportunity to do nothing and listen to the steady inhale and exhale of her breath. The “winter” holidays had begun, leaving her without classes and thus, giving her the opportunity to sleep in. She still had to do her shifts at the medbay, but that wasn’t till much later, so she had plenty of time to kill before then.

She lifted her head to look over the rail at her sleeping bunkmates but none appeared to be stirring. Hermione sighed and lay back down. She could afford to grab another hour of sleep, but she doubted it would be of very high quality. Her parents had always advised her to get up as soon as her alarm went off and never to hit snooze. But Hermione had not even set an alarm that morning.

So, she dragged her butt out of bed and onto the track. She might have taken a break since she was technically on a holiday, but it was not like she had anything to do otherwise. And as much as she lingered, Snape still did not make an appearance. Hermione thought she was now self-aware enough to admit that that disappointed her. Even if he did not give her any information, he could at least give her company. But, eventually, she gave up and returned to the dormitory to wash off the sweat now gathering on her skin.

Back home she would never even consider taking a cold shower at this time of year, but wherever Earth was on its orbit around the sun made little difference to her aboard the Hogwarts now. That morning she had dawdled a little too much and almost ran out of time to fully get the suds out of her hair. But she had just barely managed it before the water stopped and she was left to shiver alone in the shower room.

Hermione was not sure if she had ever experienced a recurring dream before—as far as she could remember, she had not—but she was not superstitious enough to put in any stock in her dreams. The dream had merely been a product of her general anxiety likely combined with her fear of falling to create a scenario her brain was preparing her to face. Little did her brain know, however, that she would not be falling into the vacuum of space anytime soon. And if she did, she would not live long enough to do anything about it anyway.

But thinking about her dream did give her an idea, if not an odd one. She walked to the row of windows that she passed by so many times before, on the port side of the ship. Hermione leaned on the sill, also as she had in the dream.

She saw the tiny, twinkling dots of far flung stars as the Hogwarts made its interminable journey through the cosmos. Hermione let her mind wander, trying to find connections that may have not existed. Wars they were not permitted to know about, that had killed Harry’s—and likely, Neville’s parents—and somehow the heir to the Black family was involved.

“What are you looking at?” someone asked beside her.

“Neville!” Hermione said. His sudden arrival was not only surprising because she had not heard him arrive but also because he seemed to have sprang from her thoughts, fully-formed.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Neville asked.

“No,” Hermione said, with a crooked grin. “You know me; I’m pretty unflappable.”

“That’s right. I remember now.” The two exchanged smiles before Hermione looked down at her hands. She still felt like her friendship with Neville had never fully-recovered and she was a little embarrassed by how much she still missed him. “So, what are you looking at?”

“Nothing really,” she said with a sigh. “Just spacing out.” Neville chuckled. “Oh, you like that?”

“I did; I did like that one.”

“Really? That was a dad-tier joke. And a bad one, at that.”

Neville shook his head. “You know, you’re funnier than people might expect.”

“Thanks. You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“Oh. Have Harry and Ron been paying you the compliments you deserve?”

Hermione snorted. “Yeah, only when I let them copy assignments. But otherwise…” She trailed off slightly. Even as far as she had come with Ron and Harry, sometimes they did still treat her as an asset rather than as a friend. “No, it actually came from someone you’d least expect.”

“Officer Hooch,” he guessed. Neville knew Hooch would never compliment Hermione on her flying because it was probably her worst class—even if she had done well flying on her solo mission with Snape. She liked that Neville knew that about her.

“No, not Officer Hooch.” Hermione paused for dramatic effect. “It was from Snape, of all people.”

Neville burst out laughing. “What do you mean, _Snape_? Was he making fun of you?”

“No!” Hermione bristled at that. “He was being genuine.” At least, Hermione thought he had been. He had said all of that stuff about meaning it, but it was hard to tell with him. She had a sense that he was always trying to communicate with her between the lines, which could hardly be considered communication at all, now that she thought about it.

“Alright… But forgive me for not believing you the first time. The man acts like—and looks like—he eats children for breakfast.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not children.”

“I mean, just barely. Eighteen is hardly an adult.”

“I’m _nineteen_.”

“How could I forget? That extra trip around the sun lent so much more experience.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “I happen to be very mature for my age.”

“Good for you. Ginny and Luna are still seventeen though.”

“And yet they are exceptionally talented despite this fact.”

Neville stuffed his hands in his pockets before gazing out of the window. “That’s still too young. Though I suppose none of us are truly old enough.”

If Neville thought he was being cryptic, his meaning was not lost on Hermione. Or he knew she knew and he was trying to inform her of this fact. Lupin must have told Neville. She wondered if this meant that Lupin had known she was lying during their lesson the other day. It should not have come as such a surprise that he knew—if he and Snape were the same rank, then they both would be aware of what was transpiring. And yet he had allowed her to lie, unquestioned. Was it a test of some sort?

Suddenly she was reminded of the conversation she had overheard while she was on her way to talk to Lupin. But if she was remembering that conversation correctly, Snape had been furious with Lupin for taking unnecessary risks. Could this be what Snape had been referring to? Was Lupin making decisions that would put their lives at risk in regards to the coming war? Snape had also confronted Lupin about Reia-12. Did their futures lie in his hands?

“Are you going to the party later this week?” Neville asked, pivoting the conversation in an unexpected direction. He knew about the impending storm and he wanted to ask her about a party?

“Uh…” Hermione stammered. “Do I have a choice?” She had heard talk of this party and she had to say, she was not impressed. What was the point? It seemed like a waste of time.

“No, you do not. Just seemed like the polite way to ask you.”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “Damn. You got my hopes up for a moment.”

“Not a fan?” Neville asked.

“Do I seem like the kind of person who likes parties and socializing?”

“You like talking to me.”

“That’s different. Talking individually is a lot easier.”

“Well, you can talk individually to me in a crowded room.”

Hermione tsked and rolled her eyes. “I suppose it won't be the _worst_ party I’ve been to, then. And it’s not like there’ll be dancing.” Neville made a face. “You can’t be serious! They don’t want us to date each other, how can they want us to dance with each other?”

“Dancing doesn’t mean anything.”

“Dancing doesn’t _not_ mean anything. There are some pretty sensual dances.”

“Are those the ones you know?”

“No!” Hermione said, much too loudly and forcefully. “I can hardly dance in rhythm, let alone in a manner that would be attractive to someone.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Hermione was about to ask him what he meant when he looked at his wrist. “I have to go. See you later.”

“See you later,” Hermione said, confused about what had just occurred.

* * *

Hiding out in an abandoned corner of the library, Hermione finished two essays and three readings. Though she had to fight the urge to log onto one of the information terminals and search for any tiny detail she could about Sirius Black or the Potters. Her theory about Sirius being an embarrassment to the Program, she thought, had some credence based on the dearth of information available on him, but that did not explain why she had been able to find it at one point. Why hide it only now?

But then it was time for her to go to work and hopefully think about something other than mysteries that were just out of reach. And her coworkers, Privates Edgecombe and Clearwater, seemed eager to oblige on this front.

“Can you believe our shift on Friday cuts into the party?” Edgecombe complained. “We really got the short end of the stick.”

“I know. Who’s going to get hurt at a party? The only thing that might get bruised is a few egos,” Clearwater said.

These women were older than Hermione. Perhaps they could provide some insight into this whole situation.

“Granger,” Clearwater asked while Hermione wrapped up the wires of a tens unit before placing it into storage. She had purposefully chosen to get physically close to them so they would start talking to her. “Do you have someone you’re going to the party with?”

“Am I supposed to? Because honestly this doesn’t make any sense with what I know the rules are. Nev—Private Longbottom told me there would be dancing. That sounds a lot like fraternizing if you ask me.” And fraternizing openly was what Ginny had warned her about.

“They don’t care about _fraternization_ , Granger, they just don’t want little babies running around,” Edgecombe explained, rather unhelpfully. Hermione could have figured that much out for herself.

“Except,” she said, trying not to sound too much like a know-it-all, “don’t we all have an implant for that? I mean, who actually _wants_ to menstruate?”

“No, she’s right,” Clearwater added. “The Program doesn’t want us to be distracted on missions but this is only a harmless distraction for the holidays. It’s not a permanent thing by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Yes, that’s right, a harmless distraction… So, I take it you aren’t going with Private Weasley?” Edgecombe asked.

“Private Weasley? No, he barely tolerates me on the best days,” Hermione replied.

“That’s not what his brother said,” Edgecombe said in a sing-song fashion.

“Fred or George?” She could talk to them later about what they chose to say about her to other people.

“No, Percy,” Edgecombe answered.

“Well, what does he know?” Hermione asked, rolling her eyes.

“A lot,” Clearwater added.

“Penelope is going with Percy,” Edgecombe explained.

“Ah,” Hermione said, trying to not sound disgusted. That explained... _a lot_. It was a good thing she had not said anything worse about Percy.

“But it does seem like Longbottom was trying to suss out if you would go with him,” Clearwater said.

“No, you misunderstand; he was just being friendly.”

“What did you say to him?” Clearwater asked.

Hermione shrugged. “I just told him I hated parties and dancing.” That comment must have been humorous because it earned her uproarious laughter from her coworkers. “What?”

“That was as good as a rejection, Granger,” Clearwater said.

“Oh. Whoops.” Not that she really wished to go with Neville anyway. She did not want anyone to get the wrong idea about her and Neville, even if the both of them knew there was nothing more to their friendship.

“I guess that means you were right about Potter,” Clearwater said, turning to Edgecombe.

“What about Potter?” Hermione asked.

“That he would not have asked you.” Hermione wanted to laugh and tell them that was even more ridiculous than her going with Ron, but then Edgecombe added, “He’s going to be _so_ disappointed when he finds out Cho is going with Diggory.”

Hermione searched her memory for who “Cho” was and landed squarely on Private Chang. She remembered seeing Harry talking to her a couple of times in the past, but had not assumed there was any attraction there. It was good for him to have moved on from Ginny, though it seemed this new person was equally unattainable.

Poor Harry. He couldn’t catch a break.

“You should go with Neville, though! You know what they say,” Edgecombe said.

“No, I don’t,” Hermione said, feeling once more very outside of something that appeared to come second-nature to everyone else.

“Like goes with like,” Edgecombe explained.

“I thought it was ‘opposites attract,’” Hermione said.

“Not in our case, no,” Clearwater said, shaking her head, “Common wisdom states that Program members in the same fields are better suited for each other. So, since both of you are scientists—voilà, a match made in Heaven.”

“I thought you said this was temporary. What does it matter if I’m compatible with my date if it's only for one evening?”

Her coworkers laughed uproariously. “Everyone gets married eventually.”

Beyond disagreeing with the notion that everyone got married, Hermione disagreed with such an idea from a logical standpoint. How could your career field determine who you were compatible with? Attraction was mostly based on appearance, after all, and only loosely tied to an individual’s personality. But she said nothing on the matter and continued working her shift in silence while her coworkers chatted amongst themselves.

But that night, when she still could not sleep, Hermione thought about the idea further. Maybe there was no truth to it, but the rule was perpetuated because it was beneficial for the Program’s members to do so. For if you only dated someone in the same discipline as you, then you would, by necessity, not be with someone within your team. There could be no intra-team drama if there was no intra-team romance.

Despite this rule of thumb, however, it still seemed to happen, if Ginny and Luna were any indication. Although their relationship started in Basic Training—maybe that explained it. But Clearwater and Edgecombe also had to ask if she was going with Ron, which also flew in the face of this supposed “rule.”

Hermione did not understand it. And perhaps she never would.

* * *

Friday rolled around and the members of her cohort seemed to be buzzing with excitement. Maybe it was because they were all well-rested—save Hermione, of course—but there was a noticeable bounce in everyone’s step. Hermione did not know what they were so excited about, but perhaps there would be good food at the party.

“Do the officers also attend?” Hermione asked later that day, trying to sound nonchalant but also engaged in her two coworkers’ current obsession. She knew she could never ask Ginny such a question without arousing suspicion but, mercifully, everyone else seemed oblivious to her friendship with Snape. Ron and Neville must have been sufficient red herrings.

“Unfortunately,” Clearwater said with a sigh. “We’re adults so they can’t tell us too much, but their presence is supposed to discourage any blatant dry humping.”

“How awful for them. Do they get to enjoy the dancing and general merriment at least?”

“They might dance with each other, if we’re lucky, but otherwise they stand around and try not to look too inebriated,” Edgecombe explained.

“Oh. There’s _alcohol_ at this party? Are the recruits also allowed to partake?”

“Yes! Why do you think we’re so excited?” Clearwater asked.

“I had no idea.”

“I love talking to you, Granger. You’re just like a little kid,” Edgecomb said.

“Thanks…” Hermione said. That was certainly a first for her.

“She doesn’t mean it in a bad way! Do you, Marietta?” Edgecombe shook her head. “It’s just… you’re endlessly curious and you ask questions of things we take for granted. So, what are you wearing?”

“My uniform?” They did have a special dress uniform just for occasions like this, didn’t they? But evidently that was the wrong thing to say because her coworkers were laughing again. This is what she had meant when she told Snape that people laughed _at_ her not _with_ her.

“Don’t tell us you didn’t bring any civilian clothes! They were on the packing list,” Clearwater explained.

Hermione remembered then the item on the list marked as “fancy dress” and wondering what that had been for. Now its use was clear to her. “Oh. Just a blue dress I wore as a bridesmaid to my cousin’s wedding.”

“A bridesmaid’s dress?” Edgecombe asked, with no small amount of incredulity.

“Is that bad?” Hermione asked.

Hermione was nearing the end of her rope with these two. Obviously she had missed the memo on how to act and dress properly and whom to dance with at parties aboard the Hogwarts. But it was her mistake for reading the rules and regulations end-to-end and hoping that that would cover everything she needed to know.

“No, it’s… economical,” Edgecomb said, obviously trying to walk back her insult.

She wanted to retort that as an only child with two doctors for parents she had never wanted for anything growing up but she felt that was in poor taste. Why would she have bought a new dress to bring with her into space that she would only wear a couple of times, if that? Besides, what did it matter what she looked like? She had more important things on her plate.

“It was too pretty to not wear again,” Hermione lied, knowing full well the reputation bridesmaid dresses possessed for being ugly and tacky. Still, it _was_ arguably the best dress she owned.

“I’m sure you’ll look amazing then,” Clearwater said.

“Yes, can’t wait to see you in it!” Edgecombe added.

Hermione smiled weakly. Even with these two as her only conversation partners, she did not know if she ever wanted this shift to end and that stupid party to start.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury Warning: bruised shins  
> Also, is it surprising that *this* is the longest chapter to date? Absolutely not

When the clock struck seven and it was time for them to leave the medbay, they waved goodbye to Doctor Pomfrey, who was watching them with a sly grin. Hermione wondered if the older woman enjoyed hearing their stories about people on the ship as much as her coworkers loved telling them. Unfortunately Pomfrey would not be able to attend the party that night—Pomfrey still had to work—but maybe she would be waiting patiently for the juicy details the following day.

Normally Hermione would not walk with Clearwater and Edgecombe, when she would make an excuse about needing to use the restroom, but on this occasion she did not have much of a choice. So, they walked to the dormitory together. As with Ron and Harry, Hermione fell behind them, as the hallways were not wide enough in all parts for them to walk three abreast. But she never minded this as it gave her an excuse to not join in the conversation and zone out.

Inside the bunkhouse, Hermione marched to her own bunk and grabbed the dress from the back of her bottom drawer. She had rolled up the dress to save on space, but after hastily unzipping herself out of her uniform and zipping herself into the dress, she realized just how wrinkled it had become.

Wonderful. Just how wonderfully the night was turning out already, she knew it was only going to get worse from here.

“Hermione?” her compatriots asked. “Are you ready?”

“Just a second,” Hermione said, trying to smooth out the wrinkles with her hands. She wished she were going with Luna and Ginny but they were already at the party. They would joke with her and make her forget her problems. These two on the other hand…

“There you are!” Clearwater said. “I knew the first years slept over here but you were kind of hidden from sight.”

Hermione remained silent. She might have been standing in that spot for that exact reason.

“You were right; that is a nice dress. I love the asymmetrical hemline and the fit is amazing on you!”

“Yes, well, the creasing sort of ruins it, doesn’t it?” Hermione said with a sigh. She knew there was no way Clearwater didn’t see it even if she was sparing her feelings by saying nothing.

But Clearwater just looked thoughtful. “I think I might have a solution for that. Marietta?”

“What?” the woman called from across the room.

“We are going to take a detour,” Clearwater said.

“What? Why?”

“There’s a few things we need to iron out,” Clearwater said with a wink to Hermione. “Oh, and don’t forget your shoes.”

Hermione looked down. She was still in her socks. Then she realized with a sinking feeling, she only had two pairs of shoes with her on the ship: her running shoes and her boots. She had never packed dress shoes.

_Boots, it is_ , she thought.

True to her word, Clearwater did not lead them to the mess hall at all, but in the opposite direction to an unmarked door that Hermione had never noticed before. 

“Private First Class’ bathroom,” Clearwater explained before hastily punching in a code on a panel. “Percy and I come in here to…”

Ew. Hermione tried not to make a face. That was not a mental image she needed.

Clearwater walked in ahead of them, with Hermione and Edgecombe following closely behind. She went immediately to the shower and turned it on. Hermione wondered if the private meant for her to wash the dress and herself, until she felt the rise of steam from the flowing water. This bathroom had _hot_ showers.

“Okay, now just stand close to the steam and hope for the best,” Clearwater said.

In the past Hermione might have worried that her hair would get frizzy in all of this humidity but it was so short now that it might not even be obvious. But with her lace-up boots and wrinkled dress, why not add frizzy hair to the mix?

“I think it’s working,” Clearwater said after a while.

“God, I hope so,” Edgecombe said, examining her nails. She seemed eager to get to the party, which was all the more surprising that she was hanging out with them. In a bathroom, of all places. But then Hermione remembered that she had not said she was going with anyone. Perhaps Marietta did not want to show up alone.

She was skeptical about Clearwater’s claim but Hermione looked down. The pleats sort of hid the wrinkles if you squinted but otherwise they were unmistakably still ingrained in the chiffon.

“You two can go on without me,” Hermione said. Maybe she could hide in here all evening and only arrive at the last possible moment.

“Nonsense. We’ll see this through. Won’t we, Marietta?”

“Yep,” Edgecombe replied, looking utterly bored and leaning against the tiled wall.

But Penelope smiled encouragingly and gave Hermione two thumbs up. Hermione returned them in kind but was unsure of the whole situation. Why were they being so nice to her? And why didn’t she trust their motives?

So Hermione waited patiently for her dress to de-wrinkle or for her compatriots to grow bored—whichever came first. She glanced down again, smoothing her fingers over the fitted bodice. Perhaps she should have considered a jacket. Standing beside the warm spray of the shower was pleasant enough but there had been goosebumps on her arms when they had walked over here. The sleeveless dress had sufficed for a summer wedding but was less than ideal for a climate-controlled spaceship.

“So... How are you enjoying your first year in the program?” Penelope asked.

“Well enough,” Hermione responded. If Penelope had asked her a couple of weeks ago she would have probably responded with an enthusiastic “yes,” but now her feelings had become much more complicated.

“What don’t you like about it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Hermione wanted to tell them. She really did. And if Penelope and Percy did... _whatever_ in here, it was likely that this area was not surveilled, but she was still scared that the information could be traced back to her and by extension, Snape.

“I was getting a little burned out, is all,” Hermione lied. “Which is why I was so glad for this break.”

“Oh, yeah, the burnout is very real. I had to learn pretty quickly what I could devote my time and energy to because I couldn’t do everything, as much as I wanted to.”

Hermione nodded. But would Penelope understand that it was different for her? Hermione _had_ to do everything. It was paramount.

“Ooh,” Penelope said, clapping her hands together, “It worked!”

Hermione examined the bodice and flowing skirt once more. Perhaps the steam _had_ done the trick. 

“Oh, no, what happened to your shoes?”

Hermione looked down to see her boots peeking out of the hem of her dress. “Uh, well, I may have left them on Earth.”

Penelope sucked in air through her teeth. “That’s alright, though. Kind of chic. Right, Marietta?”

“Definitely. And no chance of you rolling your ankle either,” Marietta said, straightening up.

“Excellent point.”

They left the warm sanctuary of the bathroom and arrived at the mess hall, where the party was already in full swing. To Hermione’s immense relief, she saw Ginny and Luna waving at her from across the room, so she thanked Penelope and Marietta again before they parted ways. She had had her doubts about the two of them but Hermione could admit it was nice to be proven wrong once in a while.

“Doesn’t someone look cute,” Ginny yelled over the sternum-rumbling music. She was wearing her own sparkly gold cocktail dress. “But I certainly didn’t expect to see you in a V that deep.”

Hermione crossed her arms self-consciously. “I wore this to my cousin’s wedding. It can’t be that bad.”

“In front of your grandparents? My, Hermione, you are daring,” Ginny said.

“I’ll have you know that my dad’s parents were both already dead at that point.” But even Hermione could recognize how odd that sounded as Ginny laughed into her cup.

“You should get yourself something to drink. Who knows when we’ll be able to drink again.”

“I’ve lived this long without it.”

“What!?” Ginny said. “Are you serious?”

“What is with everyone and forgetting that I am literally the most boring person?”

“You’ve never drank before?”

“I mean, there was that one time…” The last time she had worn this dress, to be precise. And she had made the mistake of overindulging and regretting it immensely in the morning. No, thank you. Once was enough for Hermione.

“Harry, get something for Hermione,” Ginny said, turning around. Hermione had not even realized he was there.

“Why me?” Harry asked.

“Because you aren’t doing anything else.” Harry looked offended. “Moping doesn’t count.”

Harry grumbled but he left the women to squeeze past sweaty bodies to get her something at the bar. Hermione used this opportunity to take a covert look around the room. Snape was pretty tall so she shouldn’t have a hard time finding him.

“You won’t find him over there,” Ginny said.

“I wasn’t even looking for _him_ ,” Hermione said. They both knew to whom Ginny was referring.

“Then what were you looking at?”

“I was just noticing how now would be the perfect time to attack the ship since we’re all in one spot and most of us are very drunk.”

“Well, it’s a good thing no one is going to attack us at this very moment.”

“Famous last words.”

“God, you _do_ need a drink. You know, if you’re so worried about dying young, the least you could do is have fun for once in your life,” Ginny said.

Hermione resented that. If Neville knew about the coming battle, then Ginny should also know. And she should be just as paranoid as Hermione. Speaking of which, where was Neville? Now that she thought about it, maybe she _did_ feel bad for apparently rejecting him.

“Take this,” Harry said from beside her elbow.

Hermione did as she was told and took a sip. The ice slid down the cup and smacked her nose before she was immediately greeted with the taste of a burning, bitter liquid. She worked hard to swallow it down.

“What did you give me?” Hermione asked.

“Old Fashioned,” Harry said with a shrug.

Hermione took another little sip despite knowing that it would still be unpleasant-tasting. And wouldn’t you know it? Still disgusting. At least there was no chance she was going to get drunk that night.

“Where’s Neville?” she asked. She did not need to ask where Ron was; she had seen him walk by with Private Brown earlier in the evening.

“I think he’s dancing with Abbott,” Ginny said.

Hermione nodded. She knew the woman from her classes with Neville. Good for him.

“Who is she again?” Harry asked.

“She’s on Hagrid’s team with Finnegan and Thomas,” Ginny explained.

Hermione took another miniscule sip and resisted the urge to check the time. Despite her chill earlier, the sheer amount of people in the room increased the temperature significantly and Hermione was beginning to sweat. That, combined with the loud music made her feel like she was being slowly tortured. The worst, however, was when someone would bump into her. She nearly spilled her drink many times and had to repeatedly be righted by her friends. This was people’s idea of fun?

“You didn’t tell me Hermione finally got here,” a voice said from beside her. It was Neville. Her heart soared. “Do you want to show me your moves?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but it was purely from a place of love. “What about Private Abbott?” she asked.

“Hannah had to take a break,” he explained.

“Did you wear her out then?” Hermione asked, realizing only belatedly how that sounded. But Neville only smiled and offered her his hand while Hermione returned her drink to Harry.

The dance floor was considerably less crowded than the peripheries where people were just hanging out and talking, so that was a relief somewhat. And the way he spun her sent a much needed brush of air against her overheated skin. Hermione had to admit that dancing actually might be fun if your partner was skilled enough and Neville was, truly. Good enough, even, to make her deficiencies barely noticeable.

Soon she found she was grinning ear to ear and her face was starting to hurt from the exertion of it. But, even if she had claimed the opposite the other day, dancing with Neville did not feel _romantic_. It just felt like having fun with a friend. Even if their hands were clasped and even if his fingers did occasionally graze the bare skin of her back, it never produced the pleasant, spine-tingling sensation that came whenever she felt Snape’s touch.

But Hermione was _not_ going to think about that.

Eventually Hermione relinquished her time with Neville and returned him to his date, while she went back to her, admittedly, somewhat miserable group of friends, despite what Ginny might have said about having fun tonight. She noticed that Ginny and Luna had not once danced together, probably because they were afraid of rousing suspicion, which likely led to their less than excited demeanors. And Harry was miserable, because he was, well, Harry Potter.

Another person had joined their little group—Ron, of course—and he was drinking from his own cup. When he saw Hermione approach, he gave her a blatant once over, a sour expression spoiling his features.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Hermione asked.

“What are you wearing?” Ron asked.

Hermione sighed. “I forgot my shoes on Earth; I am wearing my boots because they were my next best option.” She was honestly surprised that he was the first of their friends to mention this fact.

“I am not talking about your footwear. I am talking about your _dress_.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” She looked down, wondering if it had somehow become re-wrinkled or if someone had spilled their drink on her, but the light blue material was immaculate.

“You don’t think it’s _inappropriate_?”

“Inappropriate?” Hermione could feel her blood starting to boil. It was one thing for Ginny to joke about it, but it was another thing entirely for Ron to say it with such open contempt.

“Yes,” he said, gesturing around her chest area.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I had to ask your opinion before getting dressed tonight.”

“It’s not just me. Other people are looking at you too.”

“What does other people looking at me have to do with me? I don’t control their eyes!”

“If you hadn’t dressed so provocatively…”

“What part of this is provocative? Look around, I am not the only one dressed like this!”

“But you could have chosen something else.”

“This is my only good dress.”

“Alright, fine. You don’t have to get so mad…”

“I don’t have to get so mad? _I_ don’t have to get so mad!? You’re the one accusing me of dressing this way to get attention when that is the absolute last thing I wanted.”

“You don’t have to yell, Mione. Jesus…”

“Oh, fuck you!” Hermione said, before turning to Harry. “Give me this,” she said practically yanking her drink from his hands.

“Where are you going?” Ron called after her.

“Anywhere but here!” she said, giving him the finger over her shoulder.

Hermione pushed her way past people and almost made her way out of the mess hall when a body obstructed her path.

“Having a bit of a lover’s tiff?” the person asked.

She looked up to see the slicked back hair and upturned nose of Malfoy. Hermione had been wondering when he would choose to get back at her for the perceived slight of _saving his stupid-fucking_ _life_ and she supposed now was the moment he had decided on.

Hermione tried to side-step around him but he mirrored her movement and was once more blocking her exit.

“I’m not really in the mood,” Hermione said flatly.

“Is that what you told Weasley? Is that why he’s so angry with you?”

“Malfoy…”

“Granger…”

“Get out of my fucking-way.”

“Such a filthy mouth. It’s a shame too, considering how prettily you’re dressed.”

Her first instinct was to dump her awful drink over his awful head but she thought better of it. She was wearing her boots, after all, under her dress. So, Hermione did what came naturally—she kicked him in the shins. Hard. Malfoy went down instantly, clutching his leg.

“Next time, you should really listen to me the first time,” she said.

She left behind the pulsing music and her cohort who reeked of sweat and alcohol. As her skin cooled, so did her anger. Hermione realized she probably should not have kicked the son of a general with her steel-toed boots on but there was nothing she could do about that now.

With no goal in sight, Hermione slowed, wondering what she ought to do next. She had made her appearance. Could she go back to her bunk and pretend to be ill? She certainly felt that way now, after her “friend” had accused her of “dressing provocatively” and she was surely about to be written up for attacking another recruit.

Hermione stopped by a dark, empty alcove, lit only by the soft glow of a vending machine. She stared at it, debating whether she wanted something else to imbibe beside the nasty drink in her hands. Her eyes scanned the assortment of snacks and beverages on display before she heard footsteps behind her.

“Go away, Ron,” she said. He must have followed her out here. No one else would have come to this part of the ship when there was a party happening somewhere else.

But the face that appeared, reflected in the glass of the vending machine, was not Ron’s at all. Instead it was the sharp features of a certain, dark-haired officer. Hermione’s heart started hammering in her chest. She turned to look at him. Had he come to admonish her for kicking Malfoy?

Instead of accusations, however, the first words out of his mouth were, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. To sell the point, she took a sip from her drink and tried hard not to grimace.

Snape did not seem to be buying it. “Why are you all the way out here?”

“I was thirsty,” she said, glancing at the vending machine. Snape looked down at her cup. “Don’t want to be dehydrated; that’s how you get a hangover.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Granger.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re a horrible liar?”

“Fine. I wasn’t having fun, so I left. Happy?”

“That’s not what it looked like. It looked like you were having a good time with Longbottom.”

“You saw that?” Hermione asked. She wondered what else he must have seen.

“Indeed.”

“We’re just friends, sir—”

Snape put his hands up. “I’m not here to litigate your relationship with Longbottom. I care about what happened afterwards.”

“In my defense, sir, Malfoy did not listen when I told him multiple times to get out of my way. I only meant to _gently_ kick him.”

“You kicked Malfoy?” Snape asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Hermione’s face fell. Snape must not have seen that little incident after all. “Not very hard… Sorry, sir, what were you talking about?”

“Weasley. You know, the person you assumed I was.”

“Oh… that.”

“What did he say to you? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“He might have told me that I was dressing in a manner to attract attention.”

“He might have or he did?” Snape asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“He did.”

Snape frowned. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“ _You_? Talk to _him_? No, I hardly think that will be necessary.”

“I admit, I feel partially responsible. I told you to get along with your teammates and had not even considered that they might be impossible to get along with themselves. That was a gross oversight on my part and for that I am very sorry.”

“Yes, well… Ron and I have good and bad days. Just like you and I.”

“Are you comparing me to Weasley?”

“Well, no. Not in that way. Actually… kind of? You and I fight sometimes. But we work it out in the end.” At least, she hoped she and Ron would. Ginny and Harry had better beat some sense into Ron. But maybe that should not be their responsibility either. When would Ron finally acquire some sense of his own?

“I don’t know if I should feel insulted. I would never insinuate such a thing.”

“I would hope not. That would be highly inappropriate,” Hermione said with a laugh. A strange look crossed Snape’s face. One that she had not yet come across, so she was currently unable to parse it.

“Anyway, what time is it?” she asked, trying to move the conversation along. “10 o’clock? Damn. I thought it was at least midnight. Still, I am tired; I should probably get to bed.”

“Not sleeping again?” Snape asked.

“No, I just had a full day. And alcohol makes me sleepy.”

“You do remember what I said about lying?”

“Alright, so I’ve been a little stressed lately and it’s impacting my sleep.”

“Really? Even on break?”

Hermione snorted. “You should know why I’m stressed. You can’t dump that kind of information on someone and expect them not to be stressed. I didn’t even want to go to this stupid party. Everyone told me it was a harmless distraction. Well, not only did it not do a good job distracting me from my stress, I got into two fights!”

Snape seemed to consider what she said before saying, “I’m sorry.” He was apologizing a lot that night. “I did not intend for you to be stressed. I just thought you had the right to know. But we’re handling it—don’t worry.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better,” Hermione deadpanned. “But I know there’s still things you’re not telling me.”

“I can’t—I wouldn’t—”

“No, I get it. Trust me. I just have an insatiable urge to figure things out.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you do look nice.”

“You don’t need to change the subject, sir. I promise I won’t ask you.”

“I am not trying to change the subject. I thought you were going to leave and wanted to tell you before you left,” Snape said, before hanging his head.

Hermione looked at him again, his face illuminated by the fluorescent light. She was struck by the realization that she really only felt brave enough to get a good look at him when he was not looking at her. Probably because she was scared of those hard, dark eyes and what they could uncover with that penetrating glare.

But when he did finally return her gaze, Hermione once more found herself unable to look away. What was happening between them? Surely, she had to be imagining things, right? Nothing could happen between them.

Not that Snape wanted anything to do with her, of course. It was utter foolishness to assume otherwise.

Still, as her eyes traced the topography of his face, Hermione had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. He had touched her many times before—she could remember each time clearly—but had _she_ ever touched _him_? What would that be like? Would he flinch? Or would he lean into it?

_Nope. No_. Hermione could not think about that. It must have been the alcohol muddling her mind. Even if she only had three, tiny sips.

Hermione averted her eyes and cleared her throat. “Uh, you look nice too, sir,” she said.

“Granger,” he said with a laugh, “you do realize this is what I normally wear?”

“You still look nice,” Hermione said, feeling her face get hot. “I can’t return the compliment?” Admittedly, however, she had not even been paying attention to what he was wearing, so distracted was she.

“No, you may. I just thought you looked exceptionally nice.”

“The boots don’t ruin it?” she asked, lifting up her hem.

“Hadn’t even noticed. Although, it does explain the kicking.”

“Sorry about that, sir.”

“Sorry about what?” he said with a smile. “Listen, whatever Malfoy said or did, I’m quite sure he deserved it.”

Hermione returned the smile. “Well, I had better get to bed.”

“You’re not going back?”

“No,” she responded. “I’m not really one for dancing.”

“Longbottom—”

“—is dancing with Private Abbott. Trust me; he won’t miss me.”

Snape opened and closed his mouth, like he had been about to say something. A wild fantasy struck Hermione, where she wondered what it would be like to dance with him, right there, in the glow of the vending machine. His movements possessed an easy grace that made Hermione think he would be a great dancer. But that’s all it was—a fantasy.

“Good night, sir,” she said before she let her imagination get the better of her.

“Good night,” Snape said. “And sleep well, Hermione.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warning

Hermione was still awake when her bunkmates came filtering into the dorm at the end of the night. She had been staring at nothing for some time, lost in her own thoughts, but not only because of her usual stressors. Hermione kept replaying everything Snape had said to her that evening and not only what words he had used, but why exactly he had said them. Had he been trying to pass a clue onto her? Or had he genuinely thought she looked nice?

She could be forgiven for being skeptical toward Snape’s intentions. No one before had ever expressed an interest in Hermione, so there was clearly something repulsive about her—either physically or personality-wise—and thus, Snape would never be interested in her _in that way_.

Hermione, on the other hand, could not say the same thing about him. The more she thought about it, the more she realized her feelings for Snape could not be written off as the way someone might feel for a friend. She supposed that this development was to be expected. Hermione had harbored many crushes on many of her teachers while still in school.

She might have had a teensy-tiny thing for authority figures in the past, but this fact was exactly why nothing could happen between them. And maybe that was all part of the appeal for her—the fact that it was forbidden. But Hermione also did not know if he was married or otherwise attached and she had no intention of becoming the other woman. And still, she could not stress this to herself enough, Snape was not romantically interested in a lowly recruit like her.

“Psst, Hermione,” she heard someone call from below the bunk. “Are you still awake?”

Hermione debated whether or not she should pretend to be fast asleep but since there was no chance of her going to sleep anytime soon, she rolled over in her bunk to peer at Ginny standing below her.

“Where did you go?” Ginny asked. “We missed you.”

Hermione highly doubted that but said, “I was tired.”

“After kicking Malfoy in the groin? I’ll bet.”

Hermione groaned. Of course the rumor mill was already hard at work. “No, after your emotionally-stunted brother insulted me to my face.”

“Oh, yes, that. Listen, please don’t hold him against us. As I’ve said I swear we’re not all that bad.”

“I don’t know... Percy might be pretty bad too. And today I learned he sneaks off to the first class bathroom to have sex with his girlfriend.”

Ginny’s eyes grew wide. “Perce has a girlfriend!? Who?”

“Penelope Clearwater. But she’s actually not that bad. Don’t know how she got mixed up with the likes of him. He must have a—”

“Hermione, whatever you are about to say, don’t say it. That is my brother!”

“Alright, fine. But did you or Harry at least talk to Ron? Because I am the one who is going to have to deal with him again soon and I do not care what anyone says about professionalism—I am not doing anything mission-related with him until he apologizes.”

* * *

Ron was already waiting outside of McGonagall’s office when Hermione arrived. She had hoped that Harry would have arrived before her when they were all summoned—which is why Hermione had taken the long route—but she was apparently not that lucky.

“Hey, Mione,” Ron said, after Hermione made a point of not looking at him.

She took her eyes off the floor to glare at him and noticed that he was rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “Don’t call me that,” she practically spat. Hermione hated the nickname normally but she hated it now even more that Ron had been pretending nothing was wrong between them.

“Right. Sorry. I—uh—wanted to apologize for what I said the other night.” Hermione remained steadfast in her anger, however. Ron continued, “I was drunk and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh, really? Then what were your intentions? Because it’s pretty hard to interpret that any other way.”

“I was trying to be nice—”

“Harry, there you are,” she said, cutting Ron off from whatever nonsense he was about to spew. “Our fearless leader, do you know what this is about?”

“I don’t know. But the fact that our holiday is not officially over tells me that this isn’t good.”

McGonagall opened the door then, granting them entrance. Hermione had to wonder how much she had heard. She loved the stern woman but McGonagall seemed to favor a hands-off approach in her mentoring. Still, if McGonagall knew, would she intervene on behalf of Hermione? Surely, her and Ron’s frequent disagreements were extenuating circumstances.

The three of them filed in and took their seats in front of the desk. Harry in the middle, Ron to the right, and Hermione to the left. Sitting there, Hermione realized that they had never all been called into the office for a positive reason—and why would they be?—so she braced herself for a lecture.

“I hate to do this to you three on the last day of your break, but I would not be asking you this if it wasn’t completely necessary.”

Hermione looked up from her clasped hands and sat up straighter in her chair. So, they were not about to be belittled, after all. A welcome, if not unexpected, development.

“I, and the rest of the Program, need you to suit up and head out to complete a mission. Time is of the essence. Your briefing should appear on your tablet momentarily. But, in the meantime, head to the hangar and prepare to disembark. Everything you need should already be on your ship. You may go.”

At her dismissal they all stood up from their seats, with only Hermione saluting, before walking from the room. Soon enough, Ron and Harry were walking shoulder-to-shoulder, while Hermione lingered a few paces behind. She sighed loudly at this development. Hermione knew she would always be second fiddle to Harry and Ron’s friendship.

A team was already refueling their ship when they arrived in the hangar. The space was surprisingly empty. Hermione realized why with a jolt—many more spaceships were missing. Normally only a handful of spaceships were deployed at any given moment but there were large gaps in the hangar where ships normally sat.

The hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stood up. Was the worst of what she had imagined happening?

Hermione looked at Ron. He was not carrying the large blaster like he had brought on the trip to Reia-12. That calmed her somewhat, until she remembered that their ship was also equipped with guns and they could fight just as easily that way. Hermione’s stomach did a little flip.

_She might die soon and she had not written to her parents in months_.

They buckled in in silence. Hermione wondered if that meant her teammates also knew of their potential fate.

The ship was pulled from the hangar and Harry began plugging in the coordinates of their destination to begin their journey. Normally Hermione would be using this time to memorize what was in the briefing but instead she found herself laser-focused on whatever Harry was doing. The planet name she had glanced at had been called Ereshkigal-9, which she knew was not in the Phoenician Quadrant. That might have made her feel better if she hadn’t remembered her own comment about war being fought on multiple fronts.

The silence in the cockpit was broken up by Ron making an occasional comment to Harry, but mostly Hermione only heard the light static that told her that she and the boys were connected over the comms. She debated taking off her headset entirely so that she could listen to the roar of the engines—anything to distract her from the hammering of her heart in her chest.

She turned her tablet on and debated writing her parents a note. But what would she say? Would she apologize for leaving them behind? Or would she rub salt in that wound? They had, in fact, been the ones to drive the wedge between her and themselves, when they had rejected her dreams wholly. Her parents might have been right about the job being dangerous, but what good would that do them if their daughter was dead?

Hermione drafted a couple of messages in her head but eventually she scrapped the idea entirely. There was still a chance that they would make it out of this experience alive, so there was no reason for her to accept defeat in that moment. But as much as she repeated this to herself, Hermione could not slow her skyrocketing pulse.

She closed her eyes and exhaled. If she did not get it together soon, the vitals monitors sewn into her uniform might ping the rest of the team that she was suffering some kind of infarction.

_Calm down, Hermione,_ she told herself. _You’re not dying. Not yet, at least._

They landed hours later, during which time Hermione had only been able to make herself feel marginally better. Nevertheless, they had made it this far—without any celestial dogfights—and perhaps they could carry out the rest of the journey in relative peace.

With shaking hands, Hermione stepped into her exosuit and checked her teammates’ suits before stuffing the mission’s case under her left arm. She would normally carry the box in both hands to become less fatigued and to also be less likely to drop it, but now she was more concerned with being able to also hold her blaster in her right hand than dropping the equipment. And perhaps she had learned her lesson. Perhaps soil samples were less important than her own life.

When they exited the relative safety of their ship, Hermione did a little prayer to whatever gods were listening. The Christian God would probably ignore her pleas based on how many times she had inserted “fucking” between “Jesus” and “Christ” but maybe the Babylonian goddess for whom the planet was named would provide some much-needed support. Although, if Hermione’s memory was serving her correctly, Ereshkigal was the goddess of the underworld, so maybe not her best hope.

Her first impression upon stepping outside of their ship was sun, a yellow light not unlike that of Earth’s. Hermione looked around to see the source but when she found it, her visor immediately darkened to prevent her eyes from the radiation.

Harry and Ron had begun walking without her— _classic_ —so she sped up to catch them, except her boots sort of slid. She glanced down at the surface of this planet to see that it was covered in sand-sized particles of some sort of mineral—perhaps silicon dioxide, but she was not sure. Hermione adjusted her footing appropriately so that she could walk somewhat normally. She had always enjoyed walking on the beaches of Earth but she had never accomplished that feat in sturdy boots.

Her fond memories of going to the beach as a child were soon replaced by the realization of where she was and what she was doing. She rested her gloved finger on the trigger of her blaster. Hermione was well-versed in blaster protocol; she was not likely to shoot herself in the foot, but the safety was on nevertheless. But they had walked now for some distance on uneven terrain and even her pumping adrenaline prevented the strain in her arm from having to carry the instrumentation.

To distract herself she made sweeping glances of the orange landscape and tried to tune out the sound of her teammates' rough breathing. Her cursory read-through of the briefing told her this was just a routine extraction, but her gut and—based on the looks on their faces—the guts of her teammates told her there was more going on.

The noise began as a far-off call but grew louder as they steadily approached. Hermione tensed everywhere before forcing her muscles to relax, though she supposed face pain was not the only pain she was about to experience, and lifted her gun just a bit higher. It did not sound like a battle, but it did remind her of a large gathering. Perhaps they had been sent to infiltrate a base camp.

If that was the case, Hermione was more than a little confused. She knew, as recruits, they were cogs in the machine, grist for the mill, but surely they were the least qualified to conduct such a raid. They had received some tactical training back on Earth but how were this suited at all for this job?

But she did not have much time to ponder the mysteries of her higher-ups decision-making, because her wrist-display—and her racing heart—told her they were almost there. They just had to get past a group of tall, tree-like structures.

“Jesus Christ, don’t point those things at us,” a familiar voice said.

Hermione still did not lower her weapon while she stared at her friend in shock. Ginny was an insurgent? And what was she wearing? She was in her normal uniform, except she had unzipped the top half of the flight suit and tied the sleeves around her waist to expose the form-fitting tank top she wore underneath.

“Hermione didn’t figure it out?” another familiar voice said. Neville?

Neville was similarly missing his exosuit, similarly shirtless, and also sporting sunglasses, and a cup in his hand. Hermione was… confused, to put it lightly. More confused than she had been before when she had thought she was being led to slaughter. She checked her wrist once more. The atmosphere was surprisingly similar to that of Earth’s. But why was everyone half-dressed?

“I’m sorry. What didn’t I figure out?”

“That this was a recreational outing,” Neville responded. “You really think they would make us do more work on a break?”

_If it was an emergency_ , Hermione wanted to retort. But the more she looked, the more she noticed the rest of her cohort, walking, sitting, and talking on the sands of this planet. She was not about to say anything around _them_.

“If I’m not mistaken the last line of the briefing explained the whole situation. But I suppose this is the one time our Hermione didn’t reread a text six times, eh?” Neville added. “But at least you brought more drinks!”

Hermione glanced sidelong at the trunk resting on her now sore shoulder. “I was carrying _drinks_!?”

“Yes, and you came just in time too,” Ginny said.

She looked to her teammates, expecting a snarky quip or two about her leading them astray, but all she saw them do was remove their helmets and unseal their gloves from the rest of their suits before unzipping them and stepping out onto the sand.

Perhaps Hermione should have been glad that they weren’t cross with her, but she was cross with herself! How had she missed this? It was her sworn, sacred duty to read the briefing in full, but she had been so consumed by the thought of dying at nineteen and never seeing her parents ever again, that she might have been more than a little distracted.

“Well, come on, Hermione,” Ginny said. “We’re playing Quidditch over there.”

Hermione nodded and set down the container which was apparently a cooler and not full of delicate instruments. She wanted to join it and lay down on the sand, but she also did not want to look like a weirdo around all of these people. So, she began the laborious process of removing her exosuit.

She found a shady spot underneath a copse of “trees” and sat down, stretching out her legs. Her brain knew they were no longer in danger but her sympathetic nervous system was having a hard time catching up. Hermione watched her friends and her cohort run across an ad-hoc pitch as they threw a Quaffle back and forth. Normally the game was played aerially but apparently someone had not brought the necessary materials for that so they had to stick to playing it on the ground.

As the hormones worked through her body, Hermione realized that one of the players was significantly older. Lupin was fully topless and built leanly, but she could still see his muscles contract and relax under his scarred back as he threw the Quaffle to Ron.

“I’m surprised you’re not playing,” a deep voice said beside her.

Hermione’s heart was in her throat. She stopped gawking at Lupin to give Snape a shy smile. He sat down, joining her in the shade. Hermione could not help but notice that he, like her, was completely clothed. It was not as if she was starting to sweat through her suit, but she also was not about to walk around in her bra and tank top. But now that she knew Snape was around...

“I’m not really competitive,” Hermione said. He was sitting so close to her that she could wiggle her pinky against and graze his hand but she resisted the urge to do so.

“I’m sorry, _you’re_ not competitive?”

“At games,” she clarified. “They don’t mean anything.”

“And grades do?”

Hermione glared at him. “When they determine your future, yes.”

“This game might be life changing. You never know.”

“The only thing a game of Quidditch would change is my well-being after I inevitably got hit in the head with a Bludger.”

Snape gave her a sympathetic chuckle for her rather dumb joke. “So, you didn’t figure it out, I take it?”

“No, I didn’t,” Hermione said, crossing her arms. “But am I forgiven for assuming that something was amiss?”

“You didn’t—?” Snape asked.

“I did!”

“Well, then that worked the exact opposite of the way I intended.”

“ _You_ planned this?”

“I suggested it to my colleagues, yes. I thought it would be nice for you to have one final relaxing day before you had to get back to the grind.”

Hermione was almost too stunned to speak. She could never fathom Severus Snape would do such a thing just for her. So, all she said in response was, “Well, that blew up spectacularly.”

“Perhaps, in my infinite wisdom, I should have considered that response.”

“Maybe,” she said. Her heart was pounding again at his proximity. And to think she had almost calmed down.

They sat in silence while Hermione continued to watch the game unfold, when Snape finally said, “Can I show you something?”

“Show me what?”

But Snape was already standing up. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Where’s the fun in _what_?” He was walking away now. “Where are you going?” Hermione sighed but stood up to follow him in a direction away from the other officers and recruits. Hermione hoped they were all too busy—Ginny especially—to see her leave with Snape.

If she expected him to show her anything, it might have been a cool rock or fungus. What she had not anticipated was him leading her to his spaceship some distance away. She watched him punch in his access code—6-0-0-1-3-0—and the door open. Where the Hell was he taking her?

“What I want to show you might be off-planet.”

“Might be? Or _is_?” she asked, coyly.

“Is,” he said while climbing up the steps. He looked back at her, a smile playing across his lips. “Are you coming or not?”

Snape extended his hand to her—and so casually too! She took it, of course—Hell, she had been dying to take it for days now—and she followed him up and into the craft.

_This is not going to end well_ , Hermione thought. She was in trouble and she didn’t care. Snape just might have been worth whatever curse befell her.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury Warning:  
> Head injury, blood

After he led her up the stairs of his ship, the warmth of his touch lingering on her skin like the glow of a fire, Hermione took her seat. She buckled in and slid the headset over her ears before turning to look at him. The last time Hermione had been in this ship, she had been more than a little frightened. Once again her heart was set racing, but this time it was caused by his crooked smile.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hermione lied. But in a strange sort of way, sitting there beside him did feel so right, like it was right where she belonged.

Snape started the engine and began giving her the commands to prepare for takeoff. But once they had escaped the atmosphere of the desert planet, he was unusually—or perhaps typically, Hermione thought—quiet.

“And where are we going this time, sir?” Hermione asked when she could bear the suspense no longer. She would hope they were doing something nice but maybe it was naïve to assume so.

Snape exhaled rather forcefully but when Hermione turned to look at him. He was grinning at her. She hated when he smiled at her. Mostly because she could not believe that anything she could say or do would make him smile.

“Sorry,” he said, before checking his wrist. “Time is of the essence and I wanted to focus on getting there sooner rather than later. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Normally Hermione might have done assignments on her tablet to make use of this time, but her tablet was back on that other planet on her team’s ship, so she had no choice but to stare out the cockpit window. She hoped her team was having too much fun to wonder where she had gone, since she had left without a word and really did not want to have to explain that she had gone off on a joyride with Snape yet again.

To keep her mind busy, she practiced mapping their journey by noting their position to celestial landmarks. Such a practice had long since been rendered obsolete by advances in navigation, but they were still taught the basics should something catastrophic happen. Hermione also just enjoyed it because she loved doing tasks other people might consider mind-numbing.

True to his word, however, they approached a particularly big and blue planet. They slowed as they neared, allowing the planet’s gravity to pull them to the surface, which when she saw, stunned Hermione. It was lush and green with vegetation and nothing like she had ever seen on her adventures thus far.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, without really meaning to.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“It’s like Earth…”

“...But not?” Hermione nodded. Snape continued, “My team and I were assigned to come here once and I’ve been sneaking back every chance I could since then.” Hermione stared at Snape. That was the first time he’d ever mentioned his team.

“You snuck out here? How?” she asked.

Snape shrugged. “As an officer, I don’t think I can, in good conscience, tell you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but Snape was smiling at her again like he was on in it. She supposed she could steal his ship if she wanted to now that she knew the code.

“Well, come on, you haven’t even seen the best part.”

But Hermione hesitated. Not only was she happy to sit in his copilot’s seat for the rest of all time, but also because she had a strange sensation like if she stepped off the ship and onto this planet, that she would be crossing a line that she could never uncross, that their relationship would change irrevocably.

She nevertheless undid her harness and hung up her headset before standing up. “Shit,” she said.

“What?” Snape asked. “No, exosuit?” Hermione shook her head. “Don’t need one,” he said.

Hermione supposed it was not surprising that there were at least two planets in the whole universe that had similar conditions to Earth’s—in fact, they learned about them all of the time in her classes—but was surprising is that two would be so relatively close and that she would visit both of them on the same day.

Despite trusting Snape—for the most part, at least—Hermione still held her breath a tiny bit when Snape opened the door and they stepped out onto the surface.

Hermione wanted to stand there and close her eyes and pretend she was back at home, except when she did the immersion was completely broken. There was no buzz of insects, no birdsong, and no hum of human industry. It was a total sort of silence. Like being outside at night in the thick of winter when falling snow muffled the world in a white blanket.

She had anticipated a bit of homesickness but not so soon. Would she survive the next four years? Actually, that question was loaded now that she knew that there was the possibility she could be killed.

Hermione was saved from that dark thought by the reappearance of something warm on her hand. It was the gentlest of brushes and yet it sent a rush of blood straight to her face. Hermione opened her eyes but almost did not dare to look at him lest he could read her mind.

Fuck, he probably could. God, she was helpless.

But when she finally dared to look, his back was to her and he was heading through a thicket of vegetation. Hermione followed dutifully, like the lovesick puppy she was, even if she was forcefully reminded of the giant spiders lurking in the trees of Reia-12 and she had to wonder what the fauna of this planet consisted of.

She was also, unfortunately, reminded of Ron and Harry always leaving her in the dust as Snape’s long legs easily took two strides for every one of hers. Hermione wanted to ask him to slow down but she also remembered Snape saying time was of the essence. Still, she could not help but fantasize about him offering to carry her instead of having to walk herself.

Why was it that only Ron—the worst of her male companions—had been the one to carry her? Not only did he barely tolerate her, he also had a tendency to smell like old socks. She was not entirely sure what Snape smelled like but she was certain it was good. Probably herbal and musky—

_Oof_. Hermione had run into something large and solid—a tree, perhaps? Then the tree started vibrating, making a sound like a low chuckle, and Hermione realized that trees, as far as she was aware, did not laugh. But maybe alien trees did. No, it was definitely Snape.

“Sorry, for not looking where I was going, I—”

But Hermione looked up then and saw why Snape was no longer moving forward. They had stopped at the edge of a body of some liquid—Hermione could not assume it was water—and she watched as the liquid lapped at the shore.

She turned to face Snape but he had his face turned to the sky, which was a soft, baby blue, not dissimilar to the pale blue of Earth’s. Hermione supposed, based on the composition of the atmosphere, that it stood to reason that this sky would also be blue and also explained why the plants would be green—

“You’re thinking again.”

“Am I ever _not_ thinking?” Hermione asked with a laugh. God, she wished she were kidding. She wished she could turn off her brain for a moment to allow herself a second of respite away from the near constant chatter of her mind.

“No, I suppose not,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. She hated that too. Jesus, was there anything this man did that didn’t make her want him? “Listen, I wanted to apologize again for everything. I didn’t mean for you to think the worst—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s my own fault for not reading the damn thing and getting lost in my own thoughts.”

“What were you thinking about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s dumb, really.” She expected Snape to tell her she was not being dumb but when he didn’t she picked up a rock and threw it into the lake. “I was thinking, if I died, I would never have been able to speak to my parents ever again. I guess that probably means I should start writing to them when I get back on the Hogwarts, doesn’t it?”

Still Snape said nothing. She wondered if she was being insensitive. Maybe his parents were dead. Or maybe she was rambling and he had tuned her out. Or, perhaps, he wanted her to continue. “As petty as my gripes are with them, at least I have them, you know? Harry—Private Potter—he never even knew his parents. They died shortly after he was born.”

Hermione had not said that to dig for information; she had just been thinking of her friend lately and his struggle to get the truth. But the look that flitted across Snape’s face was one of barely concealed shock. Had he not known this about Harry? Hermione had thought it was common knowledge but maybe Snape had not known them when they were in the Program. Then again, why would he? He was probably younger than Harry’s parents; he was definitely younger than hers.

“I don’t just mean sorry for that. I’m sorry for everything, Hermione.”

“Everything!? Surely you can’t mean everything.” Snape gave her a sheepish look. “That’s ridiculous. Not everything that has gone wrong has been _your_ fault.”

“Even if that weren’t the case, it’s still not fair. It’s not fair for you or any of the other privates.”

“What’s not fair?”

“To be dragged into a mess that you had no part in creating.”

“And you did?” Hermione asked, incredulously. “Then who’s this Sirius Black I keep hearing about?”

Not even Snape could hide his surprise. “How do you know that name? Who told you that name?”

“ _You_ did!”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes, you did! You told me about the Black family so I would stumble upon him.”

“Jesus Christ, Hermione. I just wanted you to be careful. This is the opposite of careful!”

“Who is Sirius Black?”

“I can’t believe I brought you to this planet as an apology and somehow it’s become an interrogation.”

“You were the one who is acting like this whole war is your fault and I am saying I know for a fact that’s not the case because I know Sirius Black had something to do with it. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re... _not wrong_.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, a pleasurable tingle running up her spine. She did love being right. “Who is Sirius Black?” she repeated.

“Before I tell you this, you can’t tell anyone else. Do you promise?” Hermione nodded. She knew the Black family did not want this information getting out. But that wouldn’t stop her from telling Ron or Harry. “Someone who betrayed the Program. The most wanted criminal in the whole universe.”

“So, he’s still alive then?”

“We believe so, yes. But who knows for how much longer. They’re hot on his trail.”

_Yikes_ , Hermione thought. His own family ran the Program and they wanted him dead.

“Do the Generals believe he was on Reia-12?”

“Yes.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. So, they had been that close to a wanted criminal? But how did that make sense? He had not killed them, not harmed them. Or even sabotaged them. He had _saved_ them.

“Did you know him?” Hermione asked.

“No, I did not,” Snape said, firmly.

Hermione nodded. Just as she had suspected—he had not known Harry’s parents—and that meant they would have to find someone else to talk to them. And maybe if Hagrid would not tell them, perhaps Lieutenant McGonagall would instead. But perhaps their proximity to Sirius Black made everyone a little nervous about sharing details.

“Why are we here, by the way?” Hermione asked, realizing that he still had not explained anything to her.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the sky.

While Hermione had been asking her questions about traitors, the light around them had faded revealing a veritable array of watercolors painting the sky in shades of oranges, pinks, and purples.

“Wow,” Hermione said, unabashedly. Sunsets—another thing she had not realized she had been missing until they had been taken from her.

“Blue is my favorite color but I think this might take a close second,” Snape said.

Hermione was about to retort that the sky was more than just one color when she finally processed what he had said. “Wait. Hold on. _Blue_ is your favorite color? What about black?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked.

“You only wear black!”

“It’s slimming.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. As if that man needed help looking slim.

“What?” he asked. “You don’t need to wear a color for it to be your favorite. Besides, I am wearing a uniform. It’s not as if I have the option of wearing blue.”

“Some of the officers wear navy uniforms. You could choose to wear that.”

“No, I don’t like navy. It has to be a light shade of blue, like your dress was the other night.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” If Hermione’s face hadn’t been hot before, it was certainly hot now. Hell, she probably matched the sky at this rate. But she did not have to worry about Snape giving her an odd look because he was still staring at the sunset.

Hermione took this opportunity to look at him then, the way his face was awash in color, the way his hair hung, the way his mouth quirked into a slight smile. She wanted to capture this moment so she could savor it but also because she wished so desperately in that moment that he would look at her like that.

And before she could even react, he did. Snape rotated his head ever so slightly so that his eyes were on hers, smiling like he was still looking at probably one of the most beautiful scenes in the whole galaxy rather than looking at the most average woman.

“What are you thinking about now?” he asked.

“Wishing I was wearing that dress now,” she blurted out. It was a very stupid thing, she realized much too late. Why would she be wearing a dress?

Snape laughed which mortified Hermione until he explained, “You wouldn’t want to wear a dress like that on this planet. We were lucky but it rains a lot here. Your dress would be ruined. Look at the ground; it’s still damp from the last storm.”

Hermione looked at the ground under her boots, which reflected the glow of the rising moons. She would never say this part out loud, but she did not care about something like a dress getting wet if it meant she could be anywhere with him.

If she could have it her way, now would have been the perfect time for them to dance. What a pretty scene they would make under the setting sun, as he spun her around, the skirt of her dress twirling with her. Then he would pull her in close, so close that she could rest her head on his chest. And she could listen to his heartbeat as they danced slowly, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her, whispering softly in her ear—

“Cold?” he asked, returning her to her harsh reality. But now that he mentioned it, now that the sun had gone down it had been colder.

“No,” she lied. She did not want him to know she was cold. She wanted to stay here a little longer and she would hate for her being cold to be the reason they had to cut the trip short. Plus, the stars would be coming out soon.

But the feeling of something heavy appeared on her shoulders. She reached up to touch it and found it was Snape’s cape.

“Where did this come from? You weren’t even wearing it.”

He shrugged. “I have big pockets.”

Hermione tried to contain her excitement. He had given her his cape. It was a sweet gesture, but she also wondered if she could get away with sniffing it and figuring out what he smelled like. But ultimately she told herself that there was no way she could accomplish it without him noticing, so she resisted the temptation to sniff too vigorously.

The stars were really out now. Well, they had always been there, but they were visible now. As much as she saw them from the Hogwarts, seeing them from the surface of a planet was another thing entirely.

“In some ways, I guess it’s worth it,” Hermione said.

“What is?”

“Exploring the universe. The price you pay might be your life, but it’s worth it in the end.”

“Hmm,” Snape said. “I might have to disagree with you there. You deserve a full life.”

“Well, if it’s anything like you’ve said, then I am in no danger, right?”

“Right,” he said.

“You deserve a full life too,” she said, but she received no response.

They were quiet again as they both craned their necks to see the yet unimagined constellations. Hermione wrapped his cape tighter around herself. It would probably have been warmer in his arms but this was real life and not her fantasy. Hermione had to be careful not to confuse the two.

“Well, I think we had better get going back before they start wondering where you got off too,” Snape said.

“Okay,” Hermione said, even though she wanted to stay there forever. She had wanted to ping them earlier but she noticed she had no connection—probably also why Snape felt comfortable telling her about Sirius Black. “Thank you. You were right. This was better than playing a game of Quidditch.”

Snape gave her a sly grin. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I had a feeling you might.”

_Yes, but did he have a feeling why?_ Hermione wondered.

They walked back to the ship but before boarding, Snape asked, “Do you want to drive?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Landing in the hangar was one thing. Landing on a planet was another thing entirely.

“Come on. Where’s that Red Team courage I’ve heard tell of?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but relented. She might not normally be brave, but with him maybe she could be.

The flight back was relatively uneventful. Hermione was almost still too stunned to say anything and she was still wearing his cape, which she did not dare comment on so she could keep it as long as possible. She would, of course, have to give it back when they landed—Ginny would never let her live that down—but it did no harm resting on her shoulders in the cockpit.

“It’s going to be tough going back to—” But Hermione was unable to finish what she was saying as the whole cabin shook, as if from impact. “What was _that_?” Hermione asked, when she finally could muster the words.

They had not been flying through a particularly debris-heavy region of space. She should not have run into an asteroid or something. Then the cabin shook again, this time the impact sent Hermione’s head slamming onto something. It stung a little, but not enough to impair her flying, so she said nothing about it.

“Hermione,” Snape said, “I don’t mean to scare you, but evasive maneuvers. _Now_.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at his words—they were being _shot_ at—but she took a deep breath and began the sequences that she had practiced so many times before. But even after she began, she felt a growing sense of doubt. She was the absolute last person who should be in this position and yet it was too late to swap seats with Snape.

She zigged and zagged at full speed making them a harder target to hit while Snape monitored the shields and fired warning shots. At least Hermione hoped they were warning shots. They were not taught to shoot to kill and even if someone did want them dead, she would hate to become a murderer in the process.

Her hands white-knuckled on the controls, Hermione tried to focus less on what Snape was doing and more on getting to safety. She just kept telling herself that that would not be the last sunset she ever saw. There were more sunsets in her future. _She_. _Just_. _Had_. _To_. _Keep_. _Going_.

The cabin rocked once and then twice more but Hermione was like a woman possessed. No one would take her future away from her. Not Sirius Black. Not someone else.

Time seemed to stretch indefinitely and Hermione had no idea where they were going and for how long but it was probably good they had not led enemy combatants to the rest of her cohort which was all that mattered. Everyone else would be safe. Snape would be safe. And she would be safe.

“I think we lost them,” Snape said, at last.

It took Hermione a beat longer than normal to understand what he had said, at which point she slowed the ship down and loosen her shaking hands from the controls. They probably needed to reorient themselves but for the time being Hermione left the ship to coast at its current heading while she regained her composure.

Hermione turned in her seat to face her companion, whose normally unshakeable demeanor seemed to have been broken. Snape was breathing heavily and Hermione realized she was breathing heavily as well. He was also looking her over, probably to make sure she was okay, so Hermione did the polite thing and returned the favor.

But when her eyes reached his face, they stopped on his lips, which were parted ever so slightly. When she chanced a glance at his eyes, they were also exploring her face. Hermione’s beating heart seemed to stop in her chest. And was she imagining things or was he getting closer to her? She had hit her head so maybe this was a byproduct of that.

No, she confirmed after a moment, he was definitely getting closer. Hermione mirrored him, allowing herself to be drawn in by his pull, even if she herself was the one doing the moving. It was all happening so suddenly yet so slowly, testing the limits of her patience.

Soon enough she could feel his warm breath on her face followed by the crush of his lips against hers. The kiss was perfect—warm and inviting and everything she had hoped for. But she wanted _more_. She raised her still-shaking hands and slipped them into his hair to pull him even closer. Hermione cursed the armrests separating them but she did not stop and she was rewarded by him returning the gesture, his fingers in her curls.

Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. Snape roughly pulled away. Hermione was confused and heartbroken at his sudden absence, imagining that he had finally come to his senses about who he was kissing. But she looked at him, she saw that he was not looking at her and instead, at his hands. His hands that were covered in blood. _Her blood_.

“Well, that’s not good,” she said.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury Warning: aforementioned head injury and subsequent treatment thereoef

“It’s probably fine,” Hermione said, airily. “You know how head wounds are—they bleed a lot. It’s like, what are you being so dramatic for? It’s not a big deal.” She punctuated her last sentence with a little laugh. Hermione was nervous. She always started talking a lot when she was nervous.

Snape, however, looked less convinced. “Just keep flying,” he said, reaching out to touch her and then apparently thinking better of it. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

“Roger that,” Hermione said—despite never having previously said that in her life—and held up a thumb. Admittedly she was starting to feel a little woozy from the effort, but she could handle it. She had handled worse things, hadn’t she? The fact that she was still sitting there, breathing, was evidence of that.

Snape returned to her side a moment later. “Set your course for the Hogwarts. No point in not going there directly.”

Hermione realized this ruled out any opportunity for her to return to her team unnoticed, but she supposed not dying of blood loss might be better than being teased about where she had been. Besides, it was not as if she had to confess about what had happened on that planet.

She had been so focused on coming up with a plausible alibi about why she had left and also mysteriously gained a cut on her head, that she had not realized that Snape was once again very near to her, his warm hands on her head.

And suddenly she was forcibly reminded of the kiss they had only recently shared and how now both of them seemed very keen to pretend like it had not happened. That had been her first kiss. Hermione’s first kiss had been with a man much older than she and with someone she could not even conceive of having a relationship with. She had enjoyed it to be certain, and wanted to do it again as soon as possible, but she also had to be pragmatic.

 _Ha!_ Hermione could hardly believe herself. There she was, flying an officer’s spaceship that she had just kissed him in after suffering a minor head injury and after being attacked and chased by an enemy and she was worried about being logical about the whole situation. Jesus Christ.

“Well, that explains what you cut your head on. This piece must have broken during the first impact and cut you on your second.”

Hermione narrowed her gaze on the bit of metal Snape held before her, but she could not look very long before her vision started to blur from the strain.

“What is it?”

“A piece of your headset.”

“At least I have all of my shots,” Hermione responded. But Snape made a noise that sounds as if he was less than appreciative of her joke.

“Yes, but you probably still should not be hitting your head against things.”

“Oh, _that_ ,” she said, remembering her concussion from a couple of months ago.

“Yes, that. Have you forgotten so soon?”

“No,” she lied. Mostly she had been thinking about how nice his delicate fingers felt as he bandaged her up, not about the previous times she had been injured.

“You can get up now,” he said, stepping aside to let her move.

Hermione took off the lightly smashed headset before awkwardly handing it to him. “Er, sorry for bleeding on it.” _And for bleeding on you_ , she added silently. Hermione did not want to remind him that they had kissed especially if he was currently regretting it.

“No problem,” he said, cleaning the headset off with an antiseptic wipe. “Comes with the territory.”

“Right,” Hermione said. She might understand bleeding on a doctor but they weren’t usually kissing her when she needed treatment. She had to shuffle around in the cramped cockpit to get into the copilot’s seat.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he said when she was re-situated. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said with a mock salute. Though, if she were being honest with herself, she doubted she would be able to sleep now—or for the foreseeable future, for that matter—as she continued to relive their kiss.

After planet-hopping and being chased through the galaxy by God-knew-who, Snape still managed to get them back to the Hogwarts at record time. Thank goodness for modern, fuel-efficient engines.

When they finally arrived, Hermione still felt mostly okay, but when Snape offered to carry her to the medbay, she might have played up how poorly she was feeling. When he swept her up in his arms, Hermione tried not to swoon too hard. The whole journey over, Hermione worked hard to act like this was a normal, everyday occurrence and not like her heart was going to break her rib cage.

Snape did not say anything or look at her the entire time, which confirmed her suspicion that he was doing it out of obligation and not because he also had the goal of figuring out what she smelled like. Speaking of which, she could not figure out exactly what his scent was, but it was definitely herbal, slightly medicinal—mint, maybe?

But her ten minutes of pure bliss had come to a end when Snape deposited her gently on an empty bed, alerting Dr. Pomfrey to come over immediately. He explained what happened, but Hermione was unsurprised to hear that he left some key details out. Mercifully, however, the doctor asked no unrelated questions.

Hermione meanwhile, sat there, still wrapped in his cloak and stared off into the middle distance, wondering how she had gotten so lucky. She had received everything she had wanted: a kiss, to be carried by him, and to finally figure out what he smelled like. And all it had cost her was another blow to the head. Or maybe that explained more than it ought to have.

Pomfrey provided Hermione with a gown to change into, which meant—she realized ruefully—that she would be parted from his cloak. Still, she removed it from her shoulders as Pomfrey put up the privacy screen. Hermione had that once she had finished changing that she would find Snape missing, but to her surprise, he was still there when she stepped out from behind the screen.

 _Damn_ , she thought. _If only this were the backless kind of gown_.

Snape, for his part, seemed unperturbed by her state of dress and was giving her that same concerned look he had been giving her on his ship. His expression remained unchanged too when all of her scans came back normal. While Pomfrey glued her head together, Hermione tried to smile reassuringly, so he would know that she was perfectly alright, but that only earned her a scolding for not keeping her head still.

As much as Hermione appreciated his presence, she still was not entirely sure why he was sticking around, especially since he wasn’t really doing anything besides occasionally chatting with Dr. Pomfrey and standing there looking mildly horrified. Hermione couldn’t see the back of her head—obviously—but it wasn’t that bad, was it?

Pomfrey finished up and gave Hermione a thorough lecture about taking it easy before leaving her alone again with Snape. He ran a hand through his hair, which made Hermione realize with a pang that his cloak was hung over his other arm. Snape opened his mouth to say something when he was interrupted by the door being flung open followed by the heavy sound of boots.

“Hermione!” Harry said, walking up to her bed. Both he and Ron gave Snape a look—Harry’s confused, Ron’s murderous—but Harry continued without mention of it. “What happened to you? We were so worried.”

She looked to Snape to see if he would give her any indication of how to answer, when she noticed that he had left and was exchanging hushed words with Lupin, whose arrival Hermione must have missed.

“Officer Lupin hitched a ride back with us,” Harry explained, following Hermione’s gaze, “since he had flown there with Snape.”

Hermione wondered why he had flown back with them and not his own team but did not press the issue.

“So… what happened? You still haven’t explained.” Hermione could not help but notice that Harry seemed to be the only one who was worried, while Ron just looked sullen. Perhaps he was upset Hermione had cut his fun short.

Another glance back at Snape told her he was still talking to Lupin, though the conversation appeared to have taken a heated turn. Hermione would have to use the story she had crafted on the ship. “Officer Snape wanted to show me a cool fungus but we had to climb up a rock formation to see it. Unfortunately I fell during the descent and hit my head.”

Hermione had chosen to make the story sufficiently nerdy and boring so that her friends would not ask too many follow-up questions and it seemed that her plan had worked because they were silent. Though they might start to ask questions if—or _when_ —it came to light that she and Snape had been attacked en route.

“I cannot believe it! After all of these years—” Lupin said, his raised voice travelling farther than normal.

“Enough!” another voice said. Hermione knew that stern voice very well—their mentor had arrived. “Hasn’t two decades been enough for you too?” Lieutenant McGonagall asked. “This is a medbay. Show some decorum and keep the shouting to a minimum.”

Lupin had enough sense to look cowed. Snape, on the other hand, did not. His arms were crossed and his mouth was thin in annoyance.

“If you two _officers_ are not going to behave in a civil manner befitting your rank then I would ask you both to leave.”

Apparently they had been sufficiently dressed-down, because they both left without another word, but not before Snape gave her a final look and a raised eyebrow, as if to ask if she was okay. Hermione gave him a small nod in return. She would have preferred that he would not leave—since McGonagall was probably going to yell at her next—but she also knew it was suspicious enough that he remained that long.

“Granger, I trust you are well enough to get dressed?” McGonagall asked without any preamble.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said, scrambling to get up. The skin that Pomfrey had just painstakingly glued together pulled a little when she moved, but when Hermione reached back to touch her wound, she was relieved to feel that it was still dry.

What she was less pleased to discover, however, was that the area around the cut had been shaved nearly to her scalp, practically giving her a bald spot among her already short curls. Hermione must have been too busy mooning over her savior to notice and she also could not help but wonder if he would find her less attractive for it.

 _Listen to yourself!_ she thought. _You don’t even know if he ever found you attractive!_

Hermione and the rest of her team followed McGonagall from the medbay to her office. She had started the day assuming McGonagall was furious with them and once more, she was going back to the same place, thinking the same thing. But why, then, would Harry and Ron be in trouble? _They_ had done nothing wrong.

“I’m sure you know what I’m about to tell you,” McGonagall said, placing her folded hands on her desk. “I have been wanting to tell you,” Hermione caught the way she looked at Harry when she said this, “as soon as possible, but the Generals would not allow me. Private Granger, you were attacked today by enemy combatants.”

Harry and Ron shot her a bewildered look which she returned with a sheepish expression and a shrug.

“The leader of this terrorist operation is none other than, Sirius Black.”

There it was, the bombshell. Hermione was not surprised to hear that name—something they had suspected for a while—yet she was surprised to finally hear their suspicions confirmed by McGonagall herself. And Sirius was their leader? Yikes, no wonder his family wanted to cover that up. Maybe they wanted to expunge him from the family tree entirely.

“I am not telling you his name because I think it is a fun piece of trivia, but rather I’m telling you because—”

“Because he was responsible for the death of my parents,” Harry said. Though the words he spoke were grave, the tone he adopted was surprisingly monotone.

“Indeed, Potter,” McGonagall responded in a similarly dry manner. Hermione would’ve thought that such a matter would require more tenderness but this was McGonagall they were dealing with. And maybe after all of those years Harry was done grieving for people he had hardly known, intent only on getting answers.

“I must admit I had not expected you to know his name already, but knowing you three, perhaps that should be less of a surprise. But for all of our sakes I don’t need to know _how_ you know. Is that clear?”

The three of them nodded dutifully.

“Excellent. Now,” their mentor continued, “as you know we’ve already increased our security on missions and expect that to continue, if not to increase. I would also like to remind you that if you do not go looking for trouble, trouble will not find you,” she said, looking at each of them in turn. And was Hermione imagining things, or did McGonagall’s gaze linger a bit longer on her? “Is that understood?”

They nodded once more.

“Good. I’m glad we’re all in agreement. My job is first and foremost to protect you, but I can’t do that effectively if the three of you are behaving recklessly. You are dismissed. Except you, Potter.”

Hermione had not anticipated that Harry would be the one to get the aside with their mentor, but maybe McGonagall wanted to tell him about leader business. Unfortunately, however, that meant Hermione would be alone with Ron once more. She must have used up all of her luck that day.

“So, when were you going to tell us the truth?” Ron asked once they were in the hallway.

Hermione did not know how to respond at first, but, regardless, was not going to have this conversation in earshot of McGonagall, so she started walking. Ron did the same. She had been planning on going to go to the library to get stuff done now that she had her tablet back. If Ron was going to follow her—so be it. And in that time Hermione had settled on telling the truth. At least most of it.

“We’re your team. You have to trust us,” Ron said, before she could answer.

Such a response rankled her. She wanted to retort that she didn’t owe anyone—least of all him—anything but she said, rather diplomatically all things considered, “I did not know if I’d be allowed to,” which was not a complete lie. The rules about what was and wasn’t to be discussed was completely opaque to her.

“ _Allowed_ to? Who cares about that? I thought the three of us were solving this mystery together. That seems like a pretty big clue to me. What else are you keeping from us?”

“I know, I know. But Snape—”

“Yes, what about Snape?” Ron asked. “You certainly spend a lot of time _alone_ with him.”

Hermione made a disgusted sound. “Oh, grow up, Ronald. It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Really? Then why did I see you talking to him in that alcove during the party?”

“What? That was—Why were you following me?”

“Because I was trying to apologize for being a jerk. But imagine my surprise when I finally find you, that you’re making eyes at an officer. And not just any officer—no. The meanest, nastiest one.”

Hermione felt compelled to tell Ron that Snape was intelligent and handsome and nice to her, but she knew that would not help her case. All of this time she had been worried about Ginny when the Weasley she should have been worried about was Ron.

“I wasn’t making eyes at him! He was telling me off for attacking Malfoy.”

“And yet you seemed so pleased when he was talking to you. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, you had the same smile on your face when you talked to him today.”

Why was Ron even watching her? Wasn’t a game more exciting?

“I can like people without having romantic feelings for them. Do you even know what friendship is?”

 _Maybe he didn’t_ , she thought. That would explain why he was nice one moment and a total dick the next.

“Oh, yeah, it was _totally_ platonic when he told you how nice you looked.”

“You heard that?” Hermione was too shocked to even deny that one.

“I wish I hadn’t. Trust me.” Ron sighed. “‘Mione, he’s an officer. What are you doing?”

“Whatever I damned well please,” Hermione snapped before turning on her heel. She would be going in the opposite direction of the library, but also away from Ron. She did not have to suffer through anymore of this conversation.

“Fine!” Ron called after her. “Walk away. But don’t come crying to us when you get kicked out!”

“I won’t!”

 _He’s just jealous_ , she thought bitterly. _Wait. Did that idea have merit? No, it was preposterous._

_Unless…_

But Ron’s fears were unfounded because—as she had somewhat expected and dreaded—Snape was going to pretend that nothing had occurred between the two of them. Most of the time however, Hermione was too tired to care once everything had begun again and she spent her days running around like a woman possessed. It was only after she had dragged herself to bed that the near-constant thoughts about him came to the forefront of her mind.

Hermione was so desperate for sleep but all she could think about was where she had gone wrong. Was her breath terrible? Was she a bad kisser? Deep down she knew that her questions were foolish and the obvious and _logical_ answer was something she had already realized aboard his ship—a relationship between them could never work, so she should be pragmatic and stop dwelling on it.

The only problem was that her subconscious mind was perfectly content to create dreams that prominently featured him. Dreams of him coming to her door and confessing his love. Dreams of him proposing and their beautiful, extravagant wedding and him carrying her over the threshold of their home. Dreams of their big, happy family.

And then there were the nightmares. Dreams of him confessing that she only was a means to an end. Dreams of him calling her a repulsive, unlovable person. Dreams of him telling her that he hated her.

Honestly, she had no idea why her subconscious was intent on being so cruel, producing such dreams and nightmares, but it seemed content to torture her every night. She debated asking him for the sleeping pills but that would require her talking to him alone—something she definitely did not want to do. Her only recourse was to distract her mind and hope for the best.

One night she found herself again under her blankets in the glow of her tablet. She opened up her map of the Hogwarts, the oddly-named “Marauder’s Map,” and hoped looking at something so boring would lull her to sleep. But maybe she was staring at it for too long because she was sure she could see something moving on the map. Or was she starting to suffer from sleep paralysis?

Hermione thought about moving her arm. It responded in turn. She pinched her skin. It stung. So, she was not currently experiencing a hallucination. She squinted at the screen. Maybe it was supposed to move. Maybe it displayed real-time updates about the ship.

She looked harder at the dots. They had names under them. Aurora Sinistra. Pomona Sprout. Rubeus Hagrid. _Severus Snape_. That one, admittedly, hurt to read. Was it a list of officers? Another dot joined them. Minerva McGonagall. Hermione looked at the name of the room they had all congregated in—the Situation Room. Evidently, they were having an important meeting.

So, it was definitely not a list. The map was showing her the location of people aboard the ship. Hermione scrolled over to the bunkhouse to find her own name. Sure enough it was there, among hundreds of others.

Hermione understood the “how”—their wristbands could easily provide this information, but she did not quite understand the “why.” Was this how their superiors kept track of them to make sure they weren’t getting involved in shenanigans? But why, then, would Hermione have this important piece of software?

Another dot caught her eye and this one seemed to be moving at quite the clip. She focused hard to make out the name. Peter Pettigrew.

Peter Pettigrew? How did she know that name? That’s right, she had seen his name on the wall of fallen heroes.

But that meant Peter Pettigrew was dead.

Then Hermione remembered the one other thing she knew about Peter Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew had been on a team with Harry’s dad and Sirius Black.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: updated rating. Relevant for this chapter.

Hermione thought it had to be some sort of glitch. Then again, maybe it wasn’t Pettigrew at all, but someone pretending to be him. So, how would this person have boarded the Hogwarts? Their itinerary was a closely guarded secret and they were hidden from most detection systems by its shields.

Unless, she thought, the enemies had somehow tracked her and Snape back to the Hogwarts. Hermione had wondered why the other ship had hit them before leaving them alone. Maybe they had only needed to plant the tracker and leave.

Hermione looked back at the map. In the time that she had been collecting her thoughts, “Pettigrew” had moved a significant distance and now he was not far away from the dormitory. Curiosity overshadowing any caution she still possessed, Hermione practically slid down her ladder and sprinted into the hallway.

She had not taken her tablet with her, lest the light give her away, but she realized that had been a foolish oversight on her part. For when she got to the spot she had last seen Pettigrew, he was long gone. And she was standing around in the middle of night, barefoot, wearing only in her pajamas. Hermione hurried back to her bunk hopefully before anyone knew she was missing from it.

As she had half-expected, when she returned to the open map, Hermione could not find “Pettigrew” anywhere and figured he must have already left the Hogwarts. Her heart was still racing, but Hermione hastily typed out a note to Ron and Harry. There was definitely the chance that they would not get it before they awoke, but she was more trying to prove a point to Ron. Hermione didn’t keep _everything_ from her friends, only inconsequential details.

After a night of fitful sleep—no Snape-dreams; thank God for small mercies—Hermione warmed up on the track. As she bent over to touch her toes, she could make out two pairs of legs walking toward her. Hermione snapped up in an instant to wave at them.

“Good morning!” Hermione said with false cheeriness. “I didn’t expect to see you two here but I can’t say I’m not glad you came.”

“You’re not the only one who can’t sleep,” Harry replied grumpily. “I was awake when I got your message.”

“And then he dragged me out of bed,” Ron added.

“Why can’t you sleep?” Hermione asked when they began jogging. It was a dumb question. Her friend was also probably stressed about the impending war.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said.

Hermione looked to Ron. Sure, she was still furious with him, but he also knew Harry best out of the two of them and could perhaps provide insight into their leader’s horrible mood. But Ron just shrugged, apparently equally in the dark.

“Well, I’ve discovered something interesting. Remember the ‘Marauder’s Map?’” 

Harry nodded, but Ron said, “No, I don’t.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Because you weren’t there! Harry, it’s not just a map of the ship. It’s a map of _everyone’s_ real-time location aboard the ship.”

“That’s creepy,” Ron said.

“I’m not going to use it for nefarious purposes, am I, Ron? I just happened to notice that someone I believed to be dead was roaming around the ship last night, alive as could be. Peter Pettigrew.”

“Is that name supposed to mean anything to us?” Ron asked.

“He was the third member of Harry’s dad’s team,” Hermione explained.

“And he died?”

“Yes, please keep up; I don’t want to have to keep explaining myself.”

“How do you think this map works?”

“The personal identification number in our wristbands.”

Ron looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. “And you definitely think it was Pettigrew.”

“Well, no…” Hermione said. “The Program does have reason to believe he is dead, after all—”

But Ron cut her off. “So, there’s a possibility that someone who knew Pettigrew is reusing his ID to get around undetected.”

“I was getting to that theory!” Hermione said. But she was also kind of impressed that her teammate had figured it out all on his own. At least then she would not have to waste more breath spelling it out for him.

“Do you think they’re still on the ship?” Ron asked, looking around nervously. “Should we tell someone?”

Hermione shook her head. “I saw them leave. So, either they got what they were looking for or they gave up until another day. I say we keep monitoring the map and tell McGonagall as a last resort. Plus, I didn’t actually see or hear anyone last night; it might have been an error and I don’t want to have the map removed from my tablet. I still don’t know how it was added in the first place.”

Then something caught Hermione’s eye from the periphery of the track. It was tall and lean and had looked remarkably like a person. But when she turned her head to look a second time, the shape had vanished. Had it been Snape? Had he come to tell Hermione something? Or had he left as soon as he saw her because he wanted to avoid her? But she ran on the track at the same time every day—

“Hello, ‘Mione? Are you even listening?”

“What?” Hermione asked, coming to attention.

“I said, ‘I sure hope you’re right and he didn’t plant an explosive on the ship.’”

Hermione swallowed hard. She had not even considered such a possibility. Wonderful. But if the explosive had not been detonated already, it probably didn’t exist, right?

“What do you think, Harry?” she asked, hoping for some reassurance.

Upon hearing his name, Harry looked at her, still incredibly sullen. What had gotten into her two teammates lately? If anyone should be in a foul mood, it should’ve been her. She had been the one to have her heart broken, not them.

“Okay,” Harry said at last. “Sounds good.” He sounded completely uninterested.

Alright, maybe it wasn’t fair for Hermione to think like that. Her teammates were allowed to have feelings too. But now Hermione had noticed it, she wondered how she hadn’t before. Harry had been in a bad mood for a while now, but so wrapped up was she in her own issues, that she had missed it entirely. Some friend she was.

In field medicine she tried to figure out what was bothering Harry, but watching him provided no clues. At least she knew it was not her “relationship” with Snape because Ron had not told Harry. And she knew this because she had cornered Ron and begged him not to tell their third teammate about his suspicions.

“Why would I?” Ron had asked. “That’s _your_ business. Besides, I don’t think Harry could handle knowing it.”

Hermione had become furious and told him there was nothing between them anyway, but her hopes of convincing Ron nothing was amiss were dashed when Snape stopped her after class.

“Is it very important, sir?” she asked. Hermione knew what he wanted to say but she definitely did not want to hear it. Snape, however, seemed utterly stumped by her question, so Hermione added, “I really have to use the restroom before self-defense starts.”

“No, it’s not important,” Snape said.

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said before following her teammates out of the door. Ron gave her a pointed look but Harry remained unfazed, totally unaware of the drama unfolding around him.

Now that Hermione knew Snape wanted to talk to her in class and possibly on the track, she was determined to avoid him at all costs. So, when she saw him again while walking to dinner with Neville, she grabbed her friend and practically ran in the opposite direction. She doubted that Snape would talk to her about such delicate matters with Neville around but she was positively paranoid now.

After going to the party with Marietta and Penelope, their relationships with each other had improved dramatically and her shifts at the medbay had started to fly by. That night’s shift had left Hermione in a particularly good mood as they had been joking about Marietta’s attempts to seduce Private Finch-Fletchley. However, her good mood also temporarily made her forget all about Snape and she walked straight past his office without a second thought on her way back to the dorm.

“Please, Private Granger,” he called after her. Hermione could not help but notice the use of the title and the fact that he did not touch her when he might have in the past. “I really need to talk to you.”

“I’d rather not do this now,” Hermione said, still not turning around.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Wasn’t really in the—” _Wait. What had he said?_ That had certainly caught Hermione off-guard. She had been expecting more of a fight from him. Did he want to talk to her or not? She spun on her heel to face him.

“No, continue. What were you going to say?” he said.

“Well…” she said, before hanging her head and walking into his office. Hermione did not want anyone else to bear witness to her humiliation. But she supposed it was time to rip off that bandage. “Just that I wasn’t particularly in the mood to get rejected tonight.”

“Rejected?” Snape asked.

“I don’t mean it like _that_ ,” she huffed. “I meant I didn’t want to hear the ‘it was a heat of the moment thing; we can’t do that ever again’ speech. I know; I get it.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. “And I am going to ask you, ‘Am I wrong?’”

“You know, you’re so keen to think the worst of people.”

That stung a little bit. Hermione had thought they were _both_ cynics—two peas in a pod. Maybe Snape wanted to make this hurt though, to keep her away.

“Just one of my winning personality traits, I guess.”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“But was I wrong though?” Hermione asked again.

“I wasn’t going to reject you. I just wanted to apologize. I was embarrassed—”

“To kiss me?”

“No, by how I behaved. I wanted to kiss you. Very badly. But I never asked your permission.”

“Oh, please. Listen to you. I wanted to do that just as much as you did, if not more.”

“What?” Snape looked genuinely shocked at her admission. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Oh, my God, how oblivious do you have to be? I practically turn into a sweaty mess every time you touch me.”

“I’m the oblivious one? I told you that you looked nice. I took you to my secret planet. I carried you myself even though I could’ve asked for a stretcher. Yet you don’t even think I would want to kiss you.”

Hermione’s tongue was heavy. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about _what_?”

“Are you going to kiss me again?” Snape hesitated, glancing between her and the floor. “Fine,” she said, closing the distance between them. “If you want something done right…” And then she grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss.

This was a bold move for her, especially since it was only her second kiss ever. But she felt Snape relax before lifting his arms to hold her. Hermione melted into his touch and deepened the kiss.

She let her hands trail lower, all the way down to his ass, which was as firm as she had hoped. Admittedly, she had been thinking about his very round buttocks ever since she had seen him in those stupid little shorts, so she was very pleased that he had allowed her to touch him there. 

For all she knew, it had been very risky to touch his butt so soon in the process, but Hermione was feeling neither patient nor particularly cautious that evening. She had, after all, been prepared to walk away from him entirely, but now that she had him, she wanted _all of him_. Yes, she had decided then and there that she would have sex with Severus Snape—if he would allow it, of course. It was impulsive, she knew, but he had that effect on her.

His hands also seemed to be doing their own exploring, sliding gently from her back to her bum. Hermione gave his a little squeeze. He responded in kind. They traded off squeezes two more times until they had to pull apart from laughing. Eventually, however, the giddy laughter subsided and with it, all of the tension they had built up. So, Hermione spanked him.

Severus’s eyes widened. She could no longer continue referring to him by his last name. Once you touched someone’s butt, it was first names from then on out. 

Hermione had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but Severus seemed to enjoy this side of her, as his shock turned into a smile and he began palming her butt once more. Hermione liked his hands there, to be certain, but she wondered how they might feel on another part of her body. Emboldened by the spanking, she grabbed his left hand and placed it over her breast.

“Hermione—” Severus began, eyes wide once more. Hermione realized how much she liked him this way, so utterly undone and by her, no less. The power was intoxicating.

“We can stop. Or slow down,” she offered. Severus looked conflicted. “Are you married?” she asked.

“No,” Severus replied hastily, dropping his hand.

“Significant other?”

“No.”

“Then it’s like you said, right? No one can see or hear us. And I won’t tell anyone. So, if it’s okay with you, it’s more than okay with me.”

“Hermione, I—I’ve never been with someone before.”

That was not the rebuttal Hermione had expected. He seemed skilled enough that Hermione thought he must have done this all at least once before, but maybe that spoke to her own inexperience more than anything else.

“That’s okay,” Hermione said, reaching up to touch his face. “I’ve never done this either. But it can be a learning experience for both of us, if you want.”

Severus took a moment to consider before nodding. “Okay,” he said with a smile. “I am willing to try.”

Hermione took his confirmation as an invitation to start kissing him again, arms around his shoulders. He did not immediately return his hands to her breasts but Hermione did not particularly mind. There would be plenty more time for that later.

She had heard and read enough about making out to get the general gist about what occurred. The most mysterious part, in her opinion, involved kissing with tongue. But even if it was a total enigma, she still had to try. Hermione pressed her tongue past her lips and into his mouth. He received her before doing the same. Once her tongue was in his mouth, however, Hermione had little clue what to do next. She laughed nervously. It was an odd sensation, to say the least.

Severus pulled away, evidently in response to her chuckling into his mouth. “I’m not entirely sure I like that,” she admitted.

“Me neither,” he said.

“We’re probably not doing it right, then.”

“Maybe we can try again another time.”

Hermione nodded while her heart soared at the possibility that they might do this all again. She kissed him harder and more fiercely, pressing her body close to his. This new proximity brought Hermione’s attention to something pressing against her stomach.

_Severus Snape wanted her_. She never would have imagined that anyone would have an erection for her, let alone before she had even undressed. Speaking of which, Hermione moved her hands to the buttons of his shirt.

“Someone’s an eager beaver,” Severus said.

“Please don’t compare me to a semiaquatic rodent while we’re about to have sex. Even if they are among my top five favorite rodents,” she said, finally managing to free a button.

“You have a list of favorite rodents?” he asked in between kisses.

“Hey, you spend your whole childhood being compared to an order of animals and see if you don’t develop a fondness for them.”

“Why would you be compared to rodents? And why would that make you like them?”

Hermione tapped her index finger against her two front teeth before undoing his final exposed button. She tugged his shirt out of his trousers to grab the final two. “Can we focus?” she said, yanking the sleeves down his arms. “I’m trying to have sex at least once before I die.” But even after all of the effort, Hermione was dismayed to see he still wore an undershirt.

“Here, I can do it,” he said, crisscrossing his arms and pulling the offending garment over his head. And Hermione was finally rewarded with the vision of a shirtless Severus Snape.

He was pale and lean—that much she had known already—but what she had not anticipated was the smattering of black hairs covering his chest. She never would have thought chest hair would turn her on but it was so undeniably _masculine_ that she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes were led downward by the row of hair that started at his navel and disappeared below his waistline. She was overcome then by a desire to stroke it.

But that would have to wait as Hermione unzipped her flight suit and shimmied out of it until her arms were free. Then she removed her own undershirt. Hermione reached up to remove her sports bra, but Severus stayed her hand. He probably was upset at being denied the opportunity to undress her, but it wasn’t Hermione’s fault that he was going so goddamn slow!

“I think I should help with that,” Severus said, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Hermione coughed. This was where common depictions of bra removal had misled him. “It unzips in the front,” she explained.

“Oh. Right,” he said, embarrassed but nevertheless unzipping it. “Um?”

Hermione looked down to find the source of the delay. Her bras also had clasps underneath the zips. So, she unclasped it before sliding it over her shoulders and down her arms. She supposed if they were doing this correctly, she might have teased him a bit more, but Hermione was impatient and it was not as if she didn’t have a curfew.

“Now, where were we?” she said. But Severus was gazing at her chest like she must have looked at his—with the ultimate joy and reverence. Hermione felt a jolt of heat travel straight to place at the apex of her legs. She rubbed them together in response to the sensation.

Hermione had no idea what was coming, however, as Severus moved his mouth from her neck. She cried out at the absolutely delicious feeling of his kisses there. And finally—finally!—he had his warm hands on her bare breasts. She did not know how she was going to survive this man giving her an orgasm if he could make her feel this good with her flight suit still half on.

She wanted to collapse into his arms as he nibbled her neck and stroked her nipples with his rough thumbs, but Hermione did not want to be a selfish lover, so she fumbled for his zipper. Even in her heightened state of euphoria, she managed to get his trousers and underwear off. She couldn’t see his dick but she found it and wrapped her hand around it. Hermione was surprised at how velvety smooth it was and made a few appreciative strokes along the length of it.

“Hermione,” he moaned into her ear. “You can’t do that. I won’t last.”

“Alright,” Hermione said, trying not to pout.

Severus’s hand left her right breast and Hermione felt him unzip the rest of her suit, which she awkwardly stepped out of. Now his hand was on her bare thigh and Hermione thought she might explode. She wanted him to touch her higher but his hand remained firmly in place. Hermione grabbed it in both of her own to rest against the underside of her underwear, but he still did not move it. Apparently he also liked to tease her.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what?” he asked, a note of mischief in his voice.

“Please touch me there, Severus.”

“If you insist,” he said, before hooking a finger into the waistband, sliding down her underwear, and running a finger along her folds. Hermione thought she was going to die when he did that, but he continued kissing her neck and touching her breast, and then she _knew_ it.

“Sit on my desk,” he said, when Hermione came back to reality.

Hermione nodded vigorously and ripped off her underwear, boots, and socks. She might have preferred to have her first time be on a bed but she certainly was not going to complain about having sex on an authority figure’s desk.

“Put your feet on the desk and spread your knees.”

There was that jolt of heat to her core again. She loved it when he gave her orders. Hermione wondered if he knew that.

Severus knelt before her and began placing gentle kisses along the inside of her thighs. Hermione hated him then. Hated him for not putting his mouth on her sex and his tongue inside of her.

Then, as if reading her mind, he did. The sensory overload was almost unbearable and she could feel something building inside of her. She stopped resisting its arrival when he added a finger into the mix and she was sent headfirst into an orgasm. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and her whole body convulsed. She was worried she might fall off the desk as she gripped the piece of furniture for dear life. 

“Severus,” she cried, when he would not let up. Why wouldn’t he let up? It was torture. Blissful torture.

But Severus did not seem to be listening as he added a second finger. Hermione tensed as she was driven to orgasm a second time. Forgoing the desk entirely, she brought both hands to his head, lacing her fingers through his hair.

“Sev-er-uuus,” she moaned.

Now she understood why Penelope snuck off to the bathroom to have sex with Percy Weasley. Hell, Hermione would probably do that herself right now if she had to. Sex was wonderful. Why had she put it off for so long? Hermione had theoretically known it had felt good, but knowing something and experiencing it for yourself were apparently two entirely different things.

Severus got up then and kissed her hard, his face slick with her musk. It was the hottest thing ever, to taste herself on him. Hermione wrapped her still-shaking legs around him to bring him even closer. His penis, now wet with pre-cum jabbed her stomach. 

“Not so bad for your first time,” Hermione whispered into his ear. “But I’m interested to see what else you can do.” And before Severus could ask her, she said, “Yes, I have the implant. Yes, I’ve been tested for STIs.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” he said.

“Well, you should have. Do I have to teach you about safe sex?”

“I don’t have any STIs either.”

“Good, then you may proceed.”

Hermione watched with rapt attention as Severus tried to line himself up with her but winced as soon as he found his mark.

“Are you okay?” he asked, worry clearly etched across his face.

“It’s fine,” Hermione said through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go slow but if you need me to stop, please just tell me.”

Hermione nodded. The sting of penetration was a stark contrast to the bliss of his fingers and tongue before but she knew the discomfort would subside.

“I’m all the way in. Still okay?”

Hermione nodded again, at which point Severus began kissing her neck and pumping in and out. The desk was cold but the man on top of her was wonderfully warm and soon the pain was not as noticeable. She moaned softly with every ingress, which Severus took as an invitation to hook his arm around her leg and go deeper. Hermione liked that. Hermione liked that a lot. She had always enjoyed stretching, but stretching during sex took it to a new level. She moaned even louder.

Severus kissed her on the lips, then she felt him tense, pump once, twice, three times, before he shuddered. He moaned and Hermione could feel him empty himself inside of her. He remained inside of her for a second more before pulling out and standing up to his full height.

“Sorry for not lasting longer,” he said, offering Hermione a hand.

“Don’t apologize,” Hermione responded. “You’ll get better with practice.”

“And you’ll help me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I fucking hope so,” she said, leaning in for another kiss.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warnings

And so, thus began Hermione’s steamy love affair with Severus Snape. She found the term “steamy” especially apt because their hurried lovemaking was certainly wet, if not always hot. However, it was not love really, at least by conventional definitions, even if it consumed her all of the same. A smarter person might have been concerned that she had let herself become so engrossed by a potentially doomed, definitely illicit romance, but as with the start of any relationship, her vision had been fully tinted rose.

Hermione was soon crafting her day around making enough time to see her paramour. Some days she had stopped running so that she could wake up early to finish assignments. Or some mornings she even snuck into his office for a pre-lessons quickie.

“I think I want to try something else,” Hermione offered one morning. She was still wearing her running gear to keep up appearances and she justified this by telling herself that sex was exercise, right?

Severus raised an eyebrow at her. But Hermione didn’t explain, instead simply getting undressed at lightning speed. He also derobed at an admirable rate before sitting down on the mattress. They had moved beyond desk sex to doing it on an old mattress that Severus had found in storage. It wasn’t luxurious but, as Hermione had already come to realize, she would do the deed in the bathroom if it meant she could touch him.

“Lay down. On your back,” Hermione said, admiring his pink cock already standing proudly at attention. She liked the contrast of the pink against his pale skin and his dark pubes. She had had many opportunities to see that hair up close and had been pleased to discover that there were gray hairs among the black. Hermione still didn’t know how old he was but just thinking about those grays made her wet. She might have unpacked that idea further, if she had more time, but there was a man, ready and willing, waiting for her, so she pushed the thought aside.

Hermione lay down beside him on that little mattress, covered with a scratchy blanket, and turned his head so she could kiss his mouth, before moving to his neck. She had learned that Severus liked neck kisses just as much as she did. Today he showed his gratitude by fondling her breasts. After the first couple of lovemaking sessions, Hermione nipples had become unbearably sore, so they had both learned to be a little less… _enthusiastic_.

Her kisses travelled south, enjoying each shudder and small moan her touch elicited, before ending at the star of the show. She kissed the head of his penis tenderly, put him in her mouth, and gave him a couple of good head bobs. Severus sucked in air at this, which made Hermione very proud. She liked to hear that she was improving at giving pleasure.

She straddled him, her knees on the mattress. Hermione looked at Severus who, in turn, watched her with equal intensity. They both knew what was about to happen. Hermione bit her lip and with utmost concentration, worked to line herself up with his cock. Severus helped and it became a group effort, both eager to feel that connection. When she had met her mark, Hermione slid down the length of him, savoring the fullness he afforded her.

“Jesus Christ, woman, are you trying to kill me?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Maybe,” she said, coyly. Hermione bent down to kiss him, but Severus made a face. “Alright. No bending over with a dick inside of me. Got it.” Severus laughed. Hermione liked that they could be honest with each other about what they liked and didn’t like. She thought, why bother if you’re not going to communicate with your partner?

As Hermione began riding him in earnest, she was thankful for all the squats she had done up until this point. She had always considered exercise as a means to an end, but what if that end was to be better at sex? Severus, meanwhile, had finally composed himself enough to bring one hand to hold her hip while the other stroked her clit.

Hermione moaned appreciatively and increased her pace, before slowing it once more. She still did have to shower before her class but she wanted to savor this feeling for as long as his stamina would allow. Severus came with that low and guttural cry Hermione loved so much. She dislodged him from herself before flopping down beside him. Severus pulled her close and wrapped them in the scratchy blanket. Hermione nestled into his warmth.

“I wish we could do this part a little longer,” she said with a sigh. Hermione had been begging to spend at least one night with him but they both knew that was too risky.

“I know,” he said, kissing her on the nose. “One day.”

Hermione liked the possibility held in those two tiny words, but she was also too scared to ask him what he meant by them. Was it “one day” soon or “one day” in the somewhat distant future after Hermione had graduated from the Program? But if he wanted to be with her long-term, that meant they would have to get married, something Hermione doubted she should be considering at this juncture.

“I have to go,” Hermione said, reluctantly getting up.

Severus pulled her back down for a final kiss, however. “See you in class?” he asked.

“Yes, but with significantly more clothes,” she responded.

“What a shame.”

“What a shame that I’m the only one who gets to see you naked too,” she said, looping her bra over her shoulders.

Severus made a noise like he didn’t believe her. “You are divine, Hermione. I am nothing special.”

“Maybe I don’t want the divine. Maybe I want the opposite. Like someone with _devilishly_ good looks.”

“You have the worst sense of humor. You know that, right?” But there was no malice in his words and Severus was grinning widely.

“It’s a good thing you’re not seeing me for my jokes, then.”

* * *

Hermione was leaving engineering class when she received a message about when they could meet next. It was encoded in a cipher of their own devising so that anyone monitoring their correspondence would assume they were just talking about something related to their specialization and not, in fact, organizing a booty call.

They had developed the code after their second time together, which Severus had only managed to covertly coordinate after circling some key parts of her essay. But they had come to the conclusion that they would need a more efficient method in the future. After all, they couldn’t wait for him to assign her—and the rest of her classmates—another essay, just so they could have an excuse to fuck.

That evening had been particularly memorable because that was also the first time Hermione had pleasured Severus orally. Hermione had thought she had known what she was doing but soon found she had been sorely mistaken. As it turned out, the rude gesture her classmates had at her while still in school was _not_ the way in which someone (traditionally) went down on a penis.

But Severus had been a good sport about the whole thing and told her what felt best for him. Which, in turn, led Hermione to feel more comfortable about what she liked. Though, in all fairness, he could probably just touch her and she would come apart at the seams. Either he was a very dexterous, very attentive lover, or she was very sensitive. Or maybe it was a combination of the two.

“What are you smiling about?” Neville asked, abruptly ending Hermione’s horny musings.

“Hm? Oh, nothing. Just excited it’s almost the weekend,” she lied.

“Why? The weekend doesn’t mean anything for us, not really. We still have tons of work to do.”

“Is it really like work though? I mean, my specialization courses are so interesting; it hardly feels like work at all. Don’t you agree? Don’t you enjoy learning more about space plants?”

Neville scoffed. “Since when? You told me you don’t think Snape taught you anything of merit.”

“I did? Well, I don’t recall that now. That must have been before the class got _really_ good.”

Neville gave her a sidelong glance. “If you say so, Hermione…”

* * *

Hermione had her hands splayed on Severus’s desk, Severus’s hands were on her breasts, where they belonged. The only sounds that could be heard were their soft moans, the squelch of sex, and his balls hitting her ass. While this position did not allow her to look at him, kiss him, or even touch him, she did find the angle provided the most delicious friction.

Speaking of friction, Severus was now using a hand to rub tiny circles over her clit, which caused Hermione to keen even louder. She was already close to orgasm but the motion sent her over the edge. Severus also came with a cry and dislodged himself from her, before spinning her around for a kiss. His eyes were lidded, his skin was slightly damp, and his breathing was heavy in her mouth, but she loved it all the same. She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him even closer.

They were interrupted by the ping of a message on Hermione’s wrist. It was from Ginny, asking her where she was. Hermione quickly typed back that she was on her way, just running a little behind. She got dressed while Severus watched her, a wicked grin on his face.

“What are you looking at?”

“The most beautiful woman in the universe.”

“Bullshit. How much of the universe have you seen?”

“I don’t need to see the whole universe; I’ve already seen you.”

Hermione was tempted to throw her shirt at his dumb head but she also knew she had to go. “If my cohortmates knew how corny you were, they would never be terrified of you ever again.”

“Unfortunately for you, no one would ever believe I had the heart and soul of a poet, so I wouldn’t even try to tell them.”

“Poet?” Hermione snorted. “I don’t think so. Unless, of course, you are trying to win a contest for most clichés in a single poem.”

“And what does it say about you, that you inspire such things?” he said before lightly smacking her on the bum.

* * *

“What happened to you?” Ginny asked when Hermione finally arrived at the weight room. “Why are you out of breath?”

“I was running,” Hermione said, automatically.

“Don’t you run in the mornings?”

“I meant, I was running to get here,” Hermione explained.

“From where?”

“The library.”

“Is that why you have that sex flush on your neck?”

“No. What?” Hermione said, reaching up to touch herself there. Ginny got close and started sniffing her loudly. “Stop. What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. Seems kinda _fishy_ , if you ask me.”

“Alright, I’ll admit it. I was masturbating.”

“In the library?”

“Yes, you know how knowledge makes me feel.”

“Really?” Ginny asked. Hermione was once more thankful that the rest of the ship did not seem to enjoy working out as much as the three of them did.

“No, not really! If I smell like that, it’s just my B.O., I guess. Sorry I don’t smell like flowers all of the time; they only let me shower once a day!”

“Hmm,” Ginny said, pursing her lips. “Whatever you say, Hermione…”

Hermione wanted to yell in response, “Yes, it is whatever I say! I’m saying it, aren’t I?” But she held her tongue.

She did not understand why her friends seemed so reluctant to take whatever she was saying at face value, even if she was lying through her teeth to them. But was it so wrong to lie to her friends when the stakes were this high? And it was not as if they would understand. They would all think she was being foolish.

But that’s what love was, right? Making yourself a fool over another person. Not that this was love, of course. It was casual sex between two consenting adults. That’s all it could be, at least for the time being.

* * *

“We should try this in the cockpit of your ship,” Hermione said, leaning her head back as Severus lifted her up and down his shaft. This was their first time trying a seated position and Hermione had to admit, she was a fan. “Wait, is that why it’s called a cockpit?”

Severus was breathing heavily in her ear when he said, “I don’t believe for one second that you don’t know the exact etymology of ‘cockpit.’”

“I don’t know the exact etymology of ‘cockpit’ but that’s only because there is _no_ ‘exact’ etymology. The experts have put forward several theories but they’re just that—theories.”

“So, what are the theories, then?”

“Would you be upset if I told you I would find it difficult to clearly and adequately explain these theories to you while I’m riding your dick and your finger is on my clit?” Severus increased his speed, apparently having been reminded of this fact.

“Very disappointed, Hermione.” He pinched her nipples which elicited a soft cry from her. “I think I will have to take points off for that.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why? Because you find it arousing?”

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. Her orgasm was close and speech was becoming difficult. “How did you know?”

“I could feel it. You know, down there.”

“Should’ve realized,” she said after she came. “Betrayed by my own anatomy. Again.”

Severus laughed, before picking up the pace. Hermione moaned. “Again?” he asked. “When was the first time?”

“When my eyes first beheld you.”

“Does that mean we’re actually doing it, the cliché contest?”

“We can.”

“I thought you weren’t competitive.”

“No. But for you, I would fight every battle to win your affections.”

“Hermione,” Severus groaned, though Hermione did not know if it was due to his own orgasm or if he was exasperated with her.

“Yes?” she asked.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But not in the laugh at me kind of way, right?”

Severus kissed her on the cheek. “Of course not.”

* * *

“I’m worried about Harry,” Ron said over breakfast one day. Severus had had to cancel on their “meeting” and Hermione was not in the mood to run, which is how she currently found herself eating breakfast with her most difficult teammate. But as long as Ron didn’t bring up Severus, they could get along. _Mostly_.

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed? He’s down in the dumps.”

“That’s just Harry. He’s always like that.” Hermione responded, before spooning a bite of oatmeal with a particularly plump raisin. “Too much black bile.”

“What are you even talking about, ‘Mione? I never have any idea.”

“He’s a melancholy guy,” she explained, but even her explanation sounded weak to her. Ron knew Harry. He would know if there was something unusually wrong with their other teammate. And Hermione had noticed it herself. Was she pretending she didn’t see it because she didn’t want to deal with it?

“I think it’s worse now. I think McGonagall told him something that has him shaken.”

“Why do you think that?”

Ron shrugged before putting a piece of crispy imitation bacon between his lips. “He’s been like this since his conversation with McGonagall. And he says he can’t tell me.” Ron chewed loudly with his mouth open; Hermione tried not to wince. “Which probably means it’s classified.”

“About you-know-who?” Hermione asked. They had agreed not to say the name “Sirius Black” in public.

Ron nodded. “And his parents.”

“I thought we agreed to tell each other everything we know about the case, classification level be damned?”

Ron shot her a steely look. Hermione knew she was being a dick—Harry’s situation was clearly different from her own—but she was still bitter that Ron had held this fact against her. How was her fucking Severus relevant to their information quest at all?

* * *

“You look tired,” Hermione said one night. She had nearly forgotten that while her sleeping problems had cleared up when she started seeing Severus regularly, it did not mean that his had as well. The stress of finding Sirius Black was probably weighing heavily on him.

“It’s called ‘being old,’” Severus said, setting down his tablet. The awkwardness about their age difference hung uneasily in the air. Both of them refused to acknowledge that elephant.

“I can go,” she said, even though she desperately wanted to touch him.

“No, it’s fine. I’m the one who asked you here.”

She thought about offering him the opportunity to lie together in each other’s arms and do nothing, but she almost felt too embarrassed to ask. What if he said no? How would she feel then? Hermione had hoped that there was something more than the physical between them, but she also did not want to be proven wrong. She might have been lying to herself, but it was a kind lie, a white lie.

So, Hermione got undressed with methodical precision, neatly folding her clothes to set on the spare chair. When she saw he was in a similar state, she strode across the room and wrapped her hands around his shaft. “Where do you want me?”

“Slow down, Hermione. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she responded, already kissing his neck. “We’ll do this quickly and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Severus grabbed her by the wrist. “I never said anything about you being in my hair. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clearer. I am tired, yes, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make time for you. For us.”

Hermione ran over his words in her mind, like the way she ran her tongue over her teeth when she was lost in thought. “What if I just want to hold you?”

“Then I would say, ‘I would love to be held.’ Is that what you want?” Hermione nodded. “Alright.” Severus made a motion like he was going to put his clothes on, but Hermione stopped him.

“Please,” she said.

“If you insist,” he said with a chuckle before laying down on the dingy old mattress.

“I do insist,” she responded, joining him. “You’re so warm. It’s the best feeling in the world, being held by you.”

“Is that so?” he said, wrapping an arm around her.

“Yes. It’s like your warmth melts away all of my troubles.”

Severus laughed. “I think you’re winning our poetry contest, hand over fist.”

“Maybe your corniness is rubbing off on me,” she said.

“Or maybe it was inside of you all along.”

“We’re just two corns in a pod, aren’t we?” Hermione said, burrowing herself deeper under his arm.

“Don’t you mean, two corn kernels on a cob?”

“Whatever,” Hermione said. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of him breathing, his heart thudding rhythmically below her ear. She did not know why, but somehow receiving proof of Severus’s life was one of the best things she had ever heard. Hermione didn’t know why she needed this proof, when she saw him walking and talking nearly every day, but she didn’t question it, only slowed her own breath to match his.

Hermione had not intended to fall asleep. But she woke later, groggy and very disoriented. The lights were all off in Severus’s office, since they were motion-activated and they had not moved in so long. She looked to Severus, whose slow breath told her he was still fast asleep. Hermione hoped he would not be too upset that they had passed out but only for the selfish reason that she had wanted this for so long.

Watching him, she was reminded again of how much younger he looked while he slept. He was so peaceful, so unencumbered. A stray lock had fallen into his face and Hermione reached up to move it aside. Severus inhaled deeply but did not wake.

Hermione did the same thing, letting her lungs be filled with the scent of him. He smelled as he normally did, only now with a tinge of sweat. Hermione absolutely loved it. She felt the arm around her middle tighten reflexively. Hermione ran her finger along one of the veins there and followed it to its terminus where it disappeared back into his arm. The room was dark but her eyes were adjusting and she was surprised to see that there was a mark under her fingers.

She didn’t know why she had never seen it before; the mark was faded and certainly not recent. But perhaps because it was on his right arm and Severus was left-handed. At first she suspected it was a scar, but when she traced it, she could not feel the emboss of scar tissue, and it was too geometric to be a birthmark. Her next guess was a tattoo but it was so light and besides, they weren’t permitted to have tattoos in the Program. So, had he had it removed? A bit of adolescent indiscretion, perhaps?

“Hey,” a gravelly voice said in her ear.

Hermione’s heart sank. She had woken him up. “Hey.”

“What time is it?” he said, rubbing an eye.

Hermione checked her wrist. “Oh-one-hundred and fifty-eight,” she responded. Severus groaned. “I’m sorry. Was there still more you had to do?”

“No. No, that’s fine. I just don’t want you to get caught.”

His concern wasn’t undue, necessarily, but also no one had ever checked to make sure she was in her bed. “I could say it was a late night study session?” she offered.

Severus laughed. “Something like that. Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to do this…”

“But I have to go back?” Severus nodded. “I understand.” It was almost too good to be true anyway, the idea that they could just spend one night together. Hermione stood up and grabbed her clothes off the chair.

“You know this has nothing to do with you, right?” Hermione nodded. “I wish I could invite you to spend every night with me.”

 _And I wish you would_ , Hermione thought, lacing up her boots.

“See you later?” he said.

Hermione nodded again before leaving without another word. She did not normally feel shame about what they did, but somehow, walking back to the bunkhouse in the middle of the night, felt shameful. Hermione did not know what had changed between them—nothing she could pinpoint, at least—but something felt different now. But what? Was she expecting too much from a relationship that could not be more than physical? Yet she had known this all from that first kiss. What had changed?

So much for telling each other everything.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warnings  
> Happy Valentine's Day! Romantic chapter for a romantic day 💕💘💖 Also made it to 100k!!

“I guess you’re with us today,” Ginny said, when Hermione and the rest of her team arrived in the hangar.

“Looks like it,” Hermione responded, apparently a little flatly if Ginny’s next words were to be believed.

“I thought you would be more excited, to be honest. What happened to you three? Did someone die?”

It was true that Hermione had been… distracted as of late. And in Harry’s case, someone—multiple somones—had died. Not that Ginny knew about that, of course.But before she could say anything, Ron said, “Like I want to go on a mission with my kid sister.”

“Kid? We’re at the same level, Ronald.”

“Don’t remind me. It’s embarrassing enough.”

“So, who’s chaperoning us today?” Hermione asked, trying to prevent a sibling-meltdown. Well, mostly a Ron-meltdown. Hermione could count on Ginny, the younger sibling, to be more mature about the situation, which she supposed just bolstered Ginny’s point.

“Why? Do you hope it’s _you-know-who_?” Ginny teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

The three of them flinched at their appellation for Sirius Black. But Hermione quickly realized she meant Severus. Perhaps Hermione had spoken too soon about Ginny’s maturity.

“No,” Hermione said simply. She also knew it wasn’t Severus because she had just come from his office and knew he didn’t have a mission in his schedule.

“That would be me,” a deep voice said. Hermione turned to see Lupin striding toward them.

_This should be interesting_ , Hermione thought. She had yet to see Lupin in action—beyond the time she saw him shirtless playing Quidditch that one time—and was ready to be impressed. Of course, knowing her luck, this was sure to be the most uneventful mission of her career.

Harry did not even pretend to fight Ginny for the privilege of piloting first and simply took his seat beside Hermione without another word. She watched as he got himself situated before staring at the floor of the ship. It was a gut punch seeing him like this, but what was Hermione supposed to do? She couldn’t ask him about it then and there. And based on Ron’s attempts, he wouldn’t tell her even if they were alone. How was she supposed to help someone who didn’t want to be helped?

“Your hair’s getting longer,” Neville said.

Hermione straightened up and smiled at her friend. Reflexively, she reached behind her head to touch her “bald” spot, but she knew it was no longer visible. How long ago had that been now? One month? Two months? Time was fuzzy in space.

“Thanks for reminding me. I need to borrow the trimmers before I get reprimanded.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, giving her a tiny smile. “I think it looks nice.” Briefly, Hermione wondered if he was referring to the fact that the added length might make her appear more traditionally “feminine” and thus, somehow better in Neville’s eyes, but Neville added, “I forget you have curls sometimes.”

“Oh,” she said, pulling a ringlet absent-mindedly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Hermione had reached the point in her career that she had been dreading. Space exploration did not excite her anymore. This mission felt like just that: another mission. She hoped it was because she was a little preoccupied with her own interpersonal drama, but Hermione was also not certain her naïve optimism would ever return. Almost getting killed multiple times would do that to a person.

Of course, as she considered Lupin sitting opposite her, their chances of survival were significantly raised. And, if she was being honest with herself—a refreshing change of pace—she was less worried about what awaited them on the planets and more about who could be lurking in asteroid fields, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Still, when she considered the odds, as one always should, it did seem more likely that she would meet her maker at the hand of some alien lifeform rather than by another of her kind, simply because space was so vast and their location was always changing.

But, if that were in fact the case, then why did these terrorists pose any threat at all? How could the opposition even _find_ them? Unless they had help from the inside. That could have been how “Peter” had gotten aboard the ship, even if it didn’t explain how she and Severus had been initially attacked, which must have been bad luck, nor did it explain why “Peter” appeared to have done nothing during his time aboard the ship.

Why risk having an agent be compromised by sending them aboard an enemy vessel if there was already a mole in their midst? Hermione looked at everyone else aboard their tiny craft. She could not imagine who would even want to betray the Program when they were on the side of advancing humanity and scientific understanding. What did the terrorists stand for anyway? Setting back progress? None of it made any sense to Hermione.

Their destination planet was cold with surface temperatures close to absolute zero. If that was not enough of a deterrent, the frozen precipitation was as sharp as broken glass. Hermione shivered just from the thought of it. Maybe she should be less worried about aliens and terrorists, and more worried about freezing to death. She double- and triple-checked the seals on her suit specially designed for harsh conditions and encouraged everyone else to do the same.

Hermione wondered if this trip was more dangerous than the kind recruits of their level normally embarked on, considering how fast the atmosphere could kill them, but maybe mission control felt more at ease with Lupin being there. Although, if Severus was to be believed, part of that decision-making process was handled by Lupin himself. Hermione tried to consider that idea hopefully. After all, Lupin certainly didn’t have a death wish, did he?

Ginny opened the first door and they all shuffled into the cramped space of the rather tiny air lock. Hermione did not, on principle, like being so close to Ron, even if there were many layers between them, but she told herself it would not be much longer.

“Everyone in?” Ginny’s voice came over the comms.

They all answered in the affirmative before Hermione heard the sound of hydraulics, signalling Ginny closing the door in between them and the ship. Normally, exposing the ship’s interior to a planet’s atmosphere wouldn’t be a problem, but the freezing temperatures could damage the sensitive instrumentation within the ship, even if the door was only open for a second. Another reason, Hermione supposed, they had needed to take a bigger ship with a double-door system.

After another final confirmation that they all were sealed against the elements, before Ginny finally opened the door to the exterior. Hermione held her breath. And then she was reminded of the first time she had done the same thing—on their first mission. Maybe her sense of adventure had not been diminished. She was certainly afraid. But maybe that was an essential part of it?

The whole world was white, eye-wateringly so. Then the visors on their helmets became polarized so that they could actually see where they were going before they went snowblind. Ginny led the charge with Luna beside her, Hermione and Neville in the middle, and Harry, Ron, and Officer Lupin taking up the rear. No one spoke as they followed the map to their destination but that was probably because they were all trying to walk against a powerful headwind and focusing on not getting bowled over. But at least it was not precipitating.

“Private Granger, Officer Lupin,” Ginny said, when they had arrived and Neville began unpacking the equipment, “You can stand watch at our six.”

Hermione could have run over then and pulled her friend into a big hug for not putting her with Ron. She followed Lupin a couple of paces from the rest of their group, her little blaster in hand. This mission really only required one team since they were only collecting one sample, but since they had to bring two anyway, Hermione did not mind not being the one pushing the button.

She looked over at Lupin, whose weight was shifted to rest on one leg and whose own, much larger weapon was slung over his shoulder. He certainly did not look overly concerned by their situation. Hermione did not know if she ought to be more or less nervous based on his reaction.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Lupin said over their comms.

Bracing herself against the wind, Hermione just nodded before she remembered that they had no peripheral vision in these helmets, so she forced a laugh.

“Does it snow where you’re from?” he asked.

“Not like this,” she said.

Lupin chuckled. “No, of course. Nothing on Earth is like this.”

Hermione did not like that response one bit. She was just trying to engage in small-talk with him. There was no reason for him to be so pedantic about it. But then she realized she might have said the same thing if she were in Lupin’s shoes. Funny how that worked.

“How have you been, by the way? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Great. I’m great,” she responded. Her life was hectic and her work was starting to take a toll on her, not to mention the fact that she might be developing feelings for a man she couldn’t be with.

“Oh, any particular reason for this development?”

Hermione snorted. She wanted to retort that she had been being sarcastic but she was also not in the mood to be reprimanded for talking back to a superior officer.

“Like, a new relationship, for example.”

She snapped her head around so fast she thought she might get whiplash. Hermione could barely make out Lupin’s face—only his eyes were visible—through the small visor on his helmet. But his eyes were plenty. She could see that meaningful glint. He _knew_.

Hermione’s eyes wandered to her heads-up display at the corner of her vision. Heart pounding, she could see that only she and Lupin were connected. But was this conversation being monitored by someone somewhere?

“Relax, Hermione,” Lupin said. “No one is listening and I won’t tell. I just wanted to ask you to be careful.”

Hermione should have been relieved that he was not going to snitch, but more than anything, she was annoyed. And not only because he seemed to think that some false sense of familiarity existed between them that allowed him to use her first name. No, what bothered her was the assumption that she wasn’t being careful. She and Severus had taken “careful” to the umpteenth degree. They had developed a code for Chrissakes! What did Lupin know about that? Moreover, _how_ did he know?

“Who told you? Ginny?” No, Hermione thought, she had sworn not to tell. “Or Ron?” she asked. Yes, Ron would be meddlesome enough to tattle on her. Ron and Lupin must have gotten close when Ron was serving his punishment under the officer.

“Your friends have remained true to you; I figured it out on my own. Plus, they don’t know Severus like I do.”

“And how do you? Know Officer Snape, that is?” she asked. Hermione was tired of this matter being danced around.

Lupin sighed. “When I was your age, Severus and I were on the same team. Believe it or not, we were friends once too. But he blames me for the death of someone very dear to him.”

That seemed fair to Hermione. If Ron had gotten Neville killed, she probably wouldn’t forgive him either. In this case, she probably agreed with Severus. Lupin didn’t exactly look guilty either, but, then again, most of his face was obscured.

“Oh,” Hermione said. She didn’t know how to respond to that. Lupin potentially got someone killed? Maybe Hermione was less safe than she had thought. “I am sorry for his loss.” Well, that was certainly the wrong thing to have said. But she had said it and that was that.

“Hermione,” he said, his tone grave, “you didn’t catch my entire meaning.” Hermione looked up at the fair-haired man, his green eyes flecked with gold and the bags thereunder looking like bruises. “This person who was dear to him, he _loved_ her. He still loves her. Whatever he has told you—”

Hermione had heard enough of that. This conversation was clearly going down a path she did not want to take with Lupin, of all people. Not to mention the fact that Severus had not told her he loved her. Hell, he had not told her much of anything. And she also had not expected him to. How long had they been having sex for? Three months? Who cared if he still loved this dead woman? Hermione certainly didn’t care.

“I appreciate the concern, sir. I do. But I am harboring no delusions that Officer Snape loves me. I know you think I’m young and naïve—which I am to an extent—but in this regard, your concern is misplaced.”

“Hermione, wait—”

“Alright, we’re done,” Ginny’s voice said, overriding their private conversation. “That was easy.”

_Yes, it was_ , Hermione thought. _For once_.

The whole way back to the ship, Hermione mulled over what Lupin had told her. She did not know what to make of anything that he had told her or what to believe. She did believe him about being on Severus’s team, since that would be easy enough for Hermione to double-check. But whether or not Severus loved a yet unnamed woman—that would be harder to disprove.

Hermione was not sure how to feel about Lupin. Nothing about him screamed “untrustworthy,” but there were some facets of him that were... _questionable_. For example, if he indeed was the one to choose this mission for them, was it just so he could tell Hermione to watch her back? And if that were indeed his motive, to what end? He might truly have been worried about Hermione getting her heart broken, yet why did he even care?

She might not have questioned the words if they had not come from someone who was known to hate Severus. Not to mention the fact that Lupin was involved in this woman’s death, however indirectly. She also might have been more likely to consider what he was saying if she knew how he knew it. Lupin was apparently giving her this information for her benefit, but she also felt like she was missing some key pieces as well, pieces that would help her form the correct opinion.

* * *

Hermione watched Severus from her position in the chair opposite his. His glasses were resting on the end of his nose—God, how she loved those glasses—and he was poring over something. It was probably a research paper and not a recruit’s essay, based on the thoughtful, non-murderous expression on his face.

Severus must have felt her staring because he looked up, a playful smile on his lips, and his hair falling into his eyes. He certainly looked like he was besotted with her, but Hermione also knew what those glittering eyes meant, what he wanted. But isn’t that what she wanted as well?

Moments later and Hermione was sitting on his chair, her legs resting on his desk, while he was kneeling before her, passing languid swipes of his tongue over her clit. Hermione may have been there, physically in that chair, but her thoughts were somewhere else entirely. It felt good, to be sure, to have someone lap at her down there, but she kept returning to a single moment.

_He still loves her._

Who was this dead mystery woman? And what about her was so wonderful that Severus would still love her after all of this time? How did Hermione compare to her? Could Hermione even compare to her? A dead woman could never disappoint him, that was for certain, but could a dead woman gingerly suck on his balls while she gave him a handjob?

Maybe that was what she was for, so he could fantasize about this dead woman while Hermione warmed his bed. Except Severus would even deny her that pleasure.

Hermione came with a moan and a few good shakes and suddenly Severus was picking her up to rest her back against the cold wall of his office. She gasped at the shock of it, but soon enough Severus was pressing himself against—and into—her and enveloping her completely in his warmth.

She tried to focus on the moment, rather than let her mind fall down rabbit holes, and instead on the man thrusting in and out of her. She listened to his heavy breathing and inhaled his minty stink, now tinged with the very human aroma of sex. One of his arms was braced against the wall beside her head. Her eyes were drawn to the dark hair sprouting there—another thing she loved about him.

His other arm was holding her up and his veiny hand was on her hips. Hermione was not sure if she would find his fingers imprinted there the following morning, but she was content now to savor the feeling of them digging into her soft flesh. He kissed her neck, tickling her with the faint whisper of his five o’clock shadow. She giggled.

How far they had both come. And yet, they had not gone that far at all, Hermione thought. Their whole world together was contained within the four walls of Severus’s office.

“Hermione,” he whispered hotly into her ear, breathless. “You are perfect.”

“Am I?” Hermione asked coyly in return.

In that moment a desire came over her to ask Severus who _she_ was, the person who had taken up residency in his heart all those years ago and could not be dislodged by Hermione’s delicate caresses or deep scratches. But the desire passed and Hermione knew she did not have it in her to ask him. And that was for the same reason she could not ask him if there was anything more to their relationship beyond the physical.

Hermione was scared of his response.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No injury warning

Hermione’s sleep problems had returned with a vengeance. She had been foolish to assume that they would just disappear forever on their own, but she was also sorely missing the ability to lay her head down on her pillow, and tumble into oblivion’s sweet embrace. She stared at the ceiling above her bunk and as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out a crack that she had not previously noticed.

She turned around a couple of times before she reached for her tablet. Under the cover of her blanket, Hermione flipped through the many files on there, looking for something sufficiently boring to focus on and hopefully lull her to sleep. She flipped past textbooks and old essays before landing on one of the oldest documents on there. A schematic of the bone resetter that she had downloaded at the beginning of the year. She held her finger over it, preparing to delete the rather large 3-D schematic file, before she hesitated.

Hermione opened it and zoomed in on the lens ballast like she had done all of those months ago. It was just as she remembered. Curiosity satisfied, she really was going to delete it then. But, this time, rather than a gut feeling staying her hand, it was a small word on the other side of an arrow pointing to a lens.

Philosopherite. The name was familiar to Hermione but for a reason she could not immediately place. They had been forced to memorize so many obscure space minerals that even Hermione, with her seemingly endless capacity for storing the most inconsequential trivia in her encyclopedic brain, could not immediately place it.

But then she was reminded of the last time she was trying to recall a specific mineral. She had been on a mission to that planet with the spider-like creatures with Ron and Harry and she had read about it in the briefing. They had been looking for philosopherite on that planet. So, that was the same thing the lenses were made out of? Interesting. She filed away that tidbit to share with someone at a later date. Who was she kidding? No one cared about minutiae like that except her.

Hermione was about to turn off her tablet for good this time and make another last ditch effort to actually get some shut-eye, when she had another, darker thought. What was Severus doing at this hour? Was he with someone else? No, that was foolish. If he wasn’t sleeping, he would probably be in a meeting with his colleagues. She was being paranoid; he barely had time for her, let alone a second hook-up. Besides, the woman he was— _allegedly_ —still in love was dead and buried.

Still, Hermione felt an overwhelming compulsion to open the Marauder’s Map and find him. There was nothing nefarious about wanting to check up on someone, was there? Even if you had already seen that person earlier that day and knew there was nothing wrong with them? She opened the Map.

Hermione searched for him first by his office and then his classrooms. Due to the late hour, he was, predictably, not there. Recruits were not told where officers slept, but after a bit of squinting and careful scrolling, Hermione was pretty certain she had found their quarters based on the names she saw in separate rooms: Vector, Flitwick, Hagrid. But there was no sign of Severus Snape.

She checked the Situation Room to no avail. Then she checked the bridge and the Captain’s office, also to no avail. Hermione was going to call it quits when she scrolled past her own location. Like magic, Severus’s name appeared and not far from her either. Her heart lept. Was he coming to see her? No, he would never do something so unwise as to come to her bunkhouse in the middle of the night.

But then Hermione understood immediately what he had come to do. Another name was walking towards Severus from the opposite direction: Remus Lupin. They both stopped outside of a storage room and stood there for a moment, before turning around and walking back the ways they had come.

Hermione had thought only higher-level recruits had to do rounds of the ship, never officers, who had earned the privilege of a full night’s rest. But maybe with heightened security concerns, they had that job as well. It might have explained why Severus looked so much more tired lately. Hermione had assumed it was the stress of an impending battle.

She watched his dot continue its path through the corridors before her guilt came in full-force. Severus had never done anything necessarily to make her not trust him. She only had the words of her peers and his enemy, Lupin, to suspect him by, which she hardly considered fair.

Hermione put her tablet away, lay back down, her arms crossed over her chest, and stared at the crack in the ceiling. She was surprised that no one had fixed it in such a well-funded program. Hermione tried to focus on that crack rather than how bed she felt for spying on Severus.

 _Or maybe I_ deserve _to feel bad_ , she thought.

* * *

“I feel bad.”

“Hmm?” Hermione said, looking up from the paper she was currently working on. She had been making an effort to make it seem like nothing was wrong and that she was perfectly happy with this arrangement. Hermione did not know how effectively she was accomplishing this. But the fact that she felt the need to do this was most definitely, in and of itself, a bad sign. Well, that and her late-night snooping session.

“I feel bad that we do not get to see each other more often,” Severus explained further.

“I agree, but such is the life we lead, is it not?”

Severus pursed his lips. Hermione could not tell if he was frowning or merely thinking. “I believe, however, that I can make more of an effort to spend time with you.”

“Oh, no, you have so many responsibilities. I would hate for you to waste your precious time on me.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, clearly baffled by what she was saying. And indeed, Hermione knew she was not making sense. Of course, she was trying to be “chill” about the whole situation, but she did not need to go so far into “chill” that she became chilly. Not to mention the fact that he said he wanted to make an effort. Is this not what she wanted?

“I wouldn’t say it’s wasting time if we’re sleeping.”

Now that had gotten Hermione’s attention. “Here?” she asked, remembering how her back had felt the next day after sleeping on that old mattress for only a few hours.

Severus shook his head. “I may have some insider knowledge about patrols tonight and I happen to know no one will notice if you’re missing.”

“So, your quarters then?”

Severus nodded. Hermione was elated. She would get to see his private rooms? And spend a night there? Yet, deep down, she also felt a little hurt. If he had known this information in the past, why was he only inviting her now? Unless something was different about tonight. But what would be different? It was just a regular Tuesday.

“Alright. How is this going to work?” she asked. Hermione did not know if giving in so easily had been the correct answer, but it certainly _felt_ like the right one in that moment.

Hermione got ready for bed with the rest of her bunkmates, said “goodnight” to Ginny and Luna, and slunk under the cover of her blanket. Severus had told her to set an alarm but Hermione knew she would not be able to sleep. She kept checking her wrist every so often to see if the hour had yet arrived, but time had slowed to a crawl.

It was just her luck that she would almost fall asleep while waiting for their meet-up time, but she did manage to jolt herself awake before she drifted off completely. Hermione put on her running clothes and shoes, so that she could say she had come from the track when she returned in the morning, and slipped from the dorm with the quiet steps she had mastered.

She had acted surprised when Severus had described the location of his quarters to her, but she still had to pull up the Map when she inevitably got lost. Hermione tiptoed past the other closed doors to stand before his, which was ajar, hesitating before she entered. Eventually she mustered up the courage to push the door all of the way open.

She did not know what she had expected of Severus’s private quarters but it had certainly not been the stark, impersonal room of an ascetic monk—just a bed, a night stand, and a wardrobe. Hermione liked to think she knew the man somewhat after fucking him for however many months, but she had hoped his living space would provide more clues to the personality and inner-life of her enigmatic lover. Or maybe the impersonality of it all was exactly what she needed to know.

Severus himself was lounging on his bed, which Hermione noticed, with no small amount of envy, was not a bunk and at least twice as wide as hers. One of his legs was bent up, while the other was lying straight. Hermione’s eyes followed the dark hairs covering his leg to his boxers which, due to his position, gave her the smallest view of his junk.

“Hermione,” he said, getting up off his bed and removing his reading glasses. Hermione wished he would just leave them on.

They made love slowly, languidly, savoring each touch from the other. It felt like a “goodbye” to Hermione, even though this was surely a new beginning for them. If they could have sex on a real bed, then maybe they would start to be a real couple, right?

After she had orgasmed around many times—Hermione had lost count—and Severus had finished with a groan, she lay naked on his bare chest, which rose and fell under her head. He kissed her forehead.

“You mean the world to me,” he said.

Hermione’s heart seemed to stop beating. What did that mean? After a week of heartache wondering how much she meant to him and he just admitted it to her? Hermione did not know how to respond. She knew she ought to say it back to him. She knew she was absolutely crazy for him, so why not tell him what she had been feeling these past few months?

She lifted her head so she could look into his eyes as she said it, but they were closed and his face had gone slack. He was dead to the world.

“You mean the world to me too, Severus,” she said, before laying her head down on the pillow beside his. Severus snored in response and rolled over. Hermione draped her arm around him and tucked her legs under his butt. She dug her nose into his back and breathed in the scent of him. Hermione could get used to this.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sound of an alarm. She reached out her hand to silence it before she woke anyone else. Hermione opened her eyes and looked at the tablet in her hand and realized that, not only was the alarm not coming from the device, but also that she was not in her bed.

Then she remembered that she had fallen asleep in Severus’s room. Only Severus was not in the room. What time was it? Had she slept in, past her classes? But why hadn’t he woken her up?

Hermione turned on the tablet to check the time. It was 2AM, so she was safe in that regard, except the tablet she had picked up was not her own. She knew it was not her tablet because the background was a picture of a much younger Severus—acne and all—standing beside a beautiful red-haired woman. They were smiling broadly in their uniform, their arms wrapped around each other.

She dropped the tablet like it had burned her. Every other time she had used his tablet, his background had been the generic, default artistic rendering of the Andromeda Galaxy. But this... this must have been the personal one Hermione had seen him use from time to time.

Had that been the woman Lupin had told her about?

“Guns report to your battle stations, all other personnel are to go immediately to their designated safe rooms,” a voice said, coming over the PA system.

That alarm wasn’t a reveille at all. They were under attack.

Hermione got dressed with a speed heretofore unseen by herself, even after her quickiest quickies with Severus. _Severus_. She could not think about him now. Hermione practically sprinted to the safe room, not caring one lick that people might have seen where she was running from.

 _Severus must be marshalling the troops_ , she thought. _God, I hope he’s okay_. But then her traitorous brain reminded her of that picture of Severus and that gorgeous woman and she didn’t know what to think. _He was just sad about the death of his friend, right? No need to overanalyze it._

She arrived at the safe room out of breath, scanned her wrist, entered and heard the heavy, metal door lock shut behind her. No one looked at her when she walked in, which was a relief. Then again, everyone seemed surprisingly relaxed for them apparently being under attack. Why weren’t they more worried? They were all in a room with reinforced walls, stocked with provisions that could last them months, if need be. How could they be so unbothered?

The room was empty of any furniture and everyone was standing. Except when Hermione found Harry, she saw he was sitting on the floor by himself, off to the side. On instinct, she scanned the room for her other teammate, but found him missing. And then she remembered what the message had said. Ron was out there, fighting the terrorists. She hoped he was okay too. Like a punch to the gut, Hermione realized she was _actually_ worried about Ron. Someone should have checked Hell for the formation of ice crystals.

Harry barely acknowledged her presence when she sat down beside him. He had his heads in hands, looking utterly miserable.

“Are you worried about Ron?” she asked.

At her words, Harry finally turned to her, before promptly returning his head to his hands. “No, not really. It’s just a drill.”

That might have explained why no one else was worried. But that did not explain why she had been roused from his warm bed when Severus had told her it would be safe for them to meet. Shouldn’t he have known ahead of time that this was happening? Unless, of course, it had been a drill for him as well. Except, how had he woken up, got dressed, and left before she so much as opened an eyelid?

Or maybe, for once, she should focus on her teammate beside her, instead of letting her mind run circles around itself trying to understand Severus and his behavior.

“What’s up then?” she asked. Harry, predictably, did not respond. “Harry, you know you can tell me, right?”

She reached out a hand to touch him, but thought better of it. It didn’t feel right. They were close but not _that close_. After all, their relationship was more like one between colleagues rather than actual friends. And Harry looked uncomfortable enough as it was.

“I don’t know if I can. I don’t want you to think worse of me.”

“I promise I won’t.” But even that statement sounded hollow to Hermione. “I don’t agree with all of your decisions,” she continued, “but I would still treat you the same way.”

Harry, however, remained unconvinced. Was she going about this all wrong? Should she have been treating him like a friend? This was probably her fault. If she weren’t so self-involved, so caught-up in her own problems, then they might have been closer by now and she could have helped him sooner. That, and the fact that she was utterly shit at being a friend.

Hermione sighed. “If you want to talk about thinking less of someone, you should hear what I did.”

She knew admitting this to him was probably a mistake—he would end up hating her for it—but she also wanted to show him that he could trust her. And what better way to do that than to reveal a catastrophic secret of her own? At least, she hoped. God, she was clueless.

“What could you have possibly done that would be worthy of scorn? Did you turn in an assignment late, or something?”

Hermione bit her lip, still ruminating on the best way to say this. But when she concluded that there was no good way to do it, she said, “I slept with someone.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that.” But then he looked thoughtful. “I know what you’re thinking. I know you think the rules were made for a good reason. And while that may be against the rules, it doesn’t make you a despicable person.”

That was a surprisingly kind and well-reasoned thing for Harry to say to her. She was surprised. Or did that also mean she was a bad person for not thinking that he could have come up with that on her own?

Then Hermione thought back to the moment when she had told Harry her opinion about the rules. She did not think she felt the same way then as she did now. Sometimes rules and laws were imperfect. Or maybe she only thought that way when they applied to her. Perhaps Hermione was more of a hypocrite than she had previously considered.

“I thought he felt something for me, the way I did for him, but now I’m less certain.” _Even after he basically, more-or-less told me he loved me_. _Okay, well maybe not in so many words._ In the rush of her adrenaline spike, Hermione had completely forgotten about that moment until right then.

“Oh, Hermione,” he said, his voice sweet with sympathy. “You’re hardly the first person to get your heart broken in that way.” And then, to her complete shock, Harry pulled her in for a hug. She wondered how this must look to everyone else, but they all seemed content to remain in their clusters, talking amongst themselves, and to ignore Harry and Hermione.

“What’s wrong with me, though? Why can’t I just _ask_ him?” _Like who that red-haired woman is_ , she thought.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to spare yourself that pain, but I do agree that it’s important to find out sooner rather than later.”

Hermione turned to look at her teammate. His shining green eyes were not looking at her, but instead trained on something unseen in the middle distance.

“I take it you’re speaking from experience?” Harry nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Harry finally turned to look in the eye and Hermione was surprised to see that he was smiling, albeit lopsidedly. “Like I said, it’s better to know than to be in the dark. It hurts like Hell at first, but it gets easier. And then we’re free to move on to something better for ourselves.”

Hermione murmured her assent. Harry was not saying anything revolutionary but it was nice to hear her thoughts confirmed. She knew what she had to do; she had to confront him and ask him outright. Did he actually care for her? Or was he lying to stay in her pants?

“Is that really all?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. She did not have to include the part about him being an officer.

“That’s good. But you do deserve the truth and you deserve happiness. I hope you get both.”

As dumb as it seemed—or perhaps, sad—Hermione did not often think about the latter. She had never really considered herself deserving of happiness, only that it was something else she had to fight tooth and nail for. But there were more pressing concerns at the front of her mind then.

“What about you? You still don’t have to tell me, of course,” she added quickly. “But I figured after I bared some part of my soul then you would maybe consider doing the same?”

Harry laughed. It was a nice sound after all of those months of melancholy. “Oh, is that what this is?” he asked. “Alright, if you insist.” He pulled out his tablet, found whatever he was searching for, and handed it to Hermione.

Hermione took it, bracing herself for the worst. What she got instead, however, was a photograph of three smiling recruits on what appeared to be their graduation day.

“That’s my parents with you-know-who,” Harry said, sounding morose.

Hermione looked closer. It was a few years later and both men were sporting longer hair and patchy beards, but there was no mistaking the resemblance between Harry and his father. She almost did not want to look at Sirius, now that she knew he was a traitor and a murderer, but she forced herself to, nevertheless. _Know thine enemy_. Well, Hermione was surprised just how handsome the enemy was.

“They were all on the same team together.”

“What about Peter?” Hermione asked, remembering the pictures she had seen in the library. “I thought he was the third member of that team.”

Harry shrugged. “McGonagall didn’t mention him. But what she did mention was that he was their closest friend and my godfather.”

“Why would she tell you that?” It seemed more than a little cruel in Hermione’s opinion. Why did he need to know that the person who had killed his parents had been close to him?

Harry shrugged again. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself, to be honest.”

Finally Hermione’s eyes landed on the petite woman standing between the two men, their arms slung around her. She had the same bright green eyes as her son and the most stunning red hair—Hermione’s stomach dropped. It couldn’t be. Hermione had not looked at that photograph on Severus’s for a long time but she had a sneaking suspicion this was the same woman. _Harry’s mother_.

“McGonagall also included their files. Probably so I could see all of their heroic achievements.”

Hermione flipped through the pages, still reeling from this realization. Her eyes barely read the words, only caught snippets. Like Lily’s birthday—30 January ’60. And James’s middle name—Fleamont. _Unfortunate_.

No wonder no one had wanted to tell her that the love of Severus’s life had been Lily. It was more than devastating for her, it was embarrassing for Severus. He had loved her and she had married Harry’s father? And now James and Lily were dead, killed by their closest friend.

“They didn’t know, Harry. Your parents weren’t traitors, if that’s what you think. They died heroes.”

“I’m not entirely sure about that, Hermione,” he said, darkly. “I want to believe you, but they had also been on the same team. How could they not have known?”

“Still, it’s got nothing to do with you. You’re not your parents—”

Just then The hydraulic door unlocked with a hiss and people—their people, not enemies—came streaming into the room. Hermione was still staring, unseeing at Harry’s tablet when she saw booted feet standing in front of her. She followed the legs up to see Ron smiling down at her.

“Hey, did you hear?” Ron said, barely able to contain his excitement. “We caught him. We caught Sirius Black.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Injury warning: Hermione hurts her hand again  
> Also, I'm sorry 😬

Hermione was hardly listening to what Ron was saying though. She was still in shock, and it also felt entirely unreal, like she was watching everything happen to someone else and not experiencing it herself. What deity had she pissed off? That was the only way she could explain how she had become the butt of the strangest, cruelest joke. He was in love with her friend’s dead mother.

“Are you serious?” Harry said. Hermione was only vaguely aware of him standing up beside her.

“Deadly so,” Ron said.

“What happened? How did they catch him?” Harry asked.

“Apparently they knew something was up because there was a fire on the ship,” Ron said. “And not in the usual places.”

“There was a fire!?” That had captured Hermione’s attention. Fire was probably the scariest thing that could happen to them since it not only damaged the ship but consumed what little, precious oxygen they had.

“Yes. But they don’t think he set the fire to kill, only to divert attention away from himself while he tried to steal something.”

“What was he trying to steal?” Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. But when a group of officers finally found him, he was carrying crates of something. Must have been important though if he was willing to risk his own life to come aboard the ship to get it himself and not the lives of his minions.”

“But how did he even get on the ship? How did he _find_ us?” Hermione heard someone near them ask.

The three of them shared an apprehensive look. Should they have come forward sooner about their knowledge about “Peter Pettigrew?” And yet, as far as Hermione was aware, no harm had come to anyone and they had caught the culprit. It was almost too good to be true.

“I am assuming they’re questioning him now, but as far as I know, his life is forfeit. They’re going to put him to death,” someone else responded.

An uneasy feeling came over Hermione. She knew that this man had killed her friend’s parents, and probably countless others, but did he deserve death? Couldn’t they just send him back to Earth and put him in a facility for dangerous criminals? Death seemed so extreme and counter to their mission. The Program was about peace and discovery. And yet the Black family must want to be rid completely of this stain on their reputation.

Hermione cast a sideways glance at her friend. His jaw was tight and his fists were clenched. She wondered if they should just let him do it himself. He looked angry enough to carry out the deed. It was not as if she blamed Harry for his anger, but she also did not know how he could summon that much rage and hatred for someone he had never met, who had killed parents he had barely known. But that was it, wasn’t it? Harry hated this man for what he had given him: a childhood spent with a cruel aunt and uncle, and what he had taken: never knowing his mother and father.

“They can’t kill him,” Harry said, surprising both Hermione and Ron. Perhaps he did not want bloody vengeance after all. “Not until I ask him why he did _it_.”

“How are you going to do that?” Hermione asked. This was a fool’s errand. “A prisoner like him would be kept under constant surveillance. And they would never let you in to talk to him.”

“We have the Map, don’t we?” Ron offered.

“And how is that going to help? So, we know the split-second the guards change? Then what do we do?”

“Jesus, Mione, don’t be such a downer.”

“I’m just trying to be realistic!”

Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Listen, mate, we’ll do everything we can to help.” He gave Hermione a dirty look. Hermione rolled her eyes, even as a hard kernel of guilt formed at the bottom of her stomach.

Did she really, truly only care about breaking rules when they benefited her? If she was happy enough to stick her neck out for a man who didn’t care about her, maybe she should do it for someone who actually might.

* * *

They were all dismissed from their safe rooms and told to return straight to their dormitories. Classes would be cancelled for that day since everyone’s sleep had been interrupted, for which they were all thankful. Everyone, of course, except Hermione.

She watched her bunkmates chat excitedly about having a day off and how amazing it was that the leader of the terrorists had been caught and how lucky they were to be alive. Someone mentioned that the fire had been set close to their dorm, which was a detail Hermione had missed. Of course, she would have smelled the smoke herself if she had not been in Severus’s chambers.

_Severus_. She did not want to think about him. But think about him, she did. Instead of focusing on how close she had been to death, all she could feel was a dull ache in her chest, as if she had been stabbed and was slowly bleeding out.

Hermione’s gaze wandered over to Luna, who, as a muscle herself, would have been a part of the action along with Ron. But Luna was not talking to anyone else, instead she was humming while she watered her plant. Hermione could not believe that plant was still alive. She narrowed her eyes. Was she mistaken, or had the plant also not grown at all since it was brought on board?

Eventually the chatter died down and Hermione tried to go to sleep. She stared at the cracks in her ceiling. For the first time, in a long time, she wished she was somewhere else entirely. Anywhere but here.

_The dream started the same way it always did. Hermione was leaning against the window, gazing at the splendor of the infinite universe. Only this time, her dream-self seemed to be aware of what was about to happen, waiting to be pushed out the window. She felt the gentlest touch on her shoulders and tensed in anticipation of the fall. But when the fall did not come, Hermione turned around to face the specter who had haunted her dreams._

_All of this time she had assumed that it would be Severus standing behind her, that he had been her savior or her downfall. However, that was not who awaited her. Hermione was looking at herself. Not in a mirror. A copy of herself. Her clone mouthed something to her but she could not make it out the words. Her dream-self desperately wanted to understand, but the meaning evaded her._

Hermione awoke, heart pounding and damp with sweat. The dorm was eerily quiet as everyone continued to slumber. But she was done sleeping. Hermione climbed down her bunk and padded noiselessly to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and tried to calm down.

She stared at herself, long and hard, in the mirror. How could she have been so foolish? Been prepared to throw away her future for a pair of pretty eyes? Her friends had been trying to warn her. Hell, _Lupin_ even tried to warn her. Why couldn’t she have just listened? If anyone else important found out, there would likely be consequences for her and her career. And something made her doubt that _he_ would come to her defense.

_He blames me for the death of someone very dear to him._

Harry’s gorgeous mother had been the third member of Snape and Lupin’s team. How could she have not realized that sooner? Ginny had told her that story about the team that had been broken up. Looking back now, it was all so obvious. Snape had loved Lily—the name was like acid in her thoughts—and someone had found out. She must have been swapped for Peter to prevent further, unwanted attachments.

But had Lily even loved him back? Harry’s existence told her otherwise. Hermione had come second to someone else’s second choice. And still, she had continued to sleep with him. What was wrong with her? Was she that desperate for love and approval? She looked at herself again, disgusted at what was reflected back at her.

How could she be so stupid? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Rage coursed through her veins and she began to shake from it. Hermione knew she should wait it out, knew it would pass, if only she would let it. But her anger seemed to have a mind of its own sometimes. Hermione punched the wall beside the mirror. She regretted it immediately as pain shot up her arm. She bit back a sob.

Hermione looked down at her right hand, disappointed with herself. Even with the clarity of hindsight she could not behave rationally. She was just adding injury to insult. Her hand throbbed as a reminder of this fact.

Now what did she do? The question was both immediate and rhetorical. Hermione did not know what she ought to do right then, her hand throbbing in the bathroom, but she also did not know what to do about Snape. She never wanted to see him ever again, let alone speak to him. But she had no choice in the matter. He was an officer and her teacher. Maybe she could complain to McGonagall and get her specialization changed. Hermione sighed. If only it were that easy.

There was one thing she did want to know, however. That was one thing she could do and it was productive. Well, somewhat productive. But it would satisfy a curiosity that had been scratching at the back of her mind for a while now. Hermione straightened up, avoiding her own gaze.

She changed into her regular uniform—Hermione was unlikely to go running ever again—and walked toward the exit. On her way out of the dormitory, Hermione brushed her uninjured hand against a leaf of Luna’s plant. It was unnaturally smooth and unyielding—plastic. Fake. Hermione might judge her friend for watering a fake plant, if she herself had not fallen for someone who would never love her back.

The lights in the corridor were all off, which told Hermione that it was not yet six. She could have checked the time on her wrist if she had not left the stupid thing back at her bunk. Hermione did not want it in case Snape tried to contact her. Not only did she not want to read anything he would say to her, she also did not trust herself fully not to run back to him and pretend like nothing had happened. She hated that part of herself. But she could not keep it off forever—important information was communicated to her in that way—and soon she would have to make a decision about how to deal with him.

Hermione felt sick to her stomach all over again, but she continued to her destination. She wanted to believe what Harry had told her, that she was not the first person to have her heart broken in this way, but at the same time she had always assumed she was smarter than this. Clearly she had been very wrong. Hermione was not smart at all.

The hallway outside Lupin’s office was mercifully silent. Even though she wanted to see Snape least of all, Lupin was a close second. The fact that he knew was bad enough. The fact that he had been right all along made it about a hundred times worse.

But Hermione had come to this place for a reason and she would see it through. The tiny plaques on the wall seemed exactly how she remembered, arranged in a neat rectangle. When she stepped closer, however, and scanned the names individually, she could see that some had indeed gone missing. No James Potter. No Peter Pettigrew. No Lily Evans.

Hermione was trying to understand why the Program—or someone else—would remove these names, when, as far as she knew, they had done nothing wrong. After all, they must have been considered heroes at one point to even merit their names on the wall. But perhaps their association to Sirius Black was too close for comfort.

Then Hermione heard footsteps coming toward her. That had to be Lupin, she thought. His office was at the end of a corridor so she had nowhere to go without being seen. Casting her eyes wildly about, she looked for a place to hide before they settled on what she hoped was a simple storage closet. Hermione tested the handle and was granted access. She said a quick prayer of thanks to whoever was looking out for her—clearly a different god than the one who had cursed her—and stepped inside.

“I know you hate Padfoot, but—” That was Lupin; Hermione could tell. But who was he talking to?

His interlocutor laughed. Hermione froze. She would know that laugh anywhere. _Severus_. No, he was Snape again; she had to remember that. She said another “thank you” that she was in a closet with her ear pressed against the door and not standing in the hallway, like a bewildered deer caught in headlights.

“Hate is a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?” Snape said, venom in his voice.

“Severus, you know, deep down, it’s the right thing to do.” Snape made an annoyed sound. “You do. And I know you always do the right thing in the end, even at great personal cost. That’s something I’ve—”

But Hermione could not hear the rest of what was said, because they must have gone into Lupin’s office. Hermione’s mind was going a hundred miles a minute. Snape always did the right thing? She could not believe that. How was leading her on for months and months the _right_ thing? In what universe, was that the just thing to do? And who the Hell was Padfoot? Someone’s dog?

She opened the door a crack and peered around. Hermione had been lucky up until this point but she did not know how much longer that luck would last. The corridor was empty now, so she slipped out of the closet before beating a hasty retreat.

The lights were on now and Hermione slowed her pace when she had put enough distance between herself and Lupin’s office. She had some more information now—someone was trying to cover up Harry’s parents’ deaths—but she still did not know what to do with that fact beyond relaying it to Ron and Harry. It still didn’t make sense to her, but, then again, what was making sense these days?

Hermione was about to look for them in the common area when her hand started throbbing painfully again. She supposed she ought to treat that first, especially since it might be hours before her teammates woke up. So, she turned on her heel and walked in the direction of the medbay.

Today was really the perfect day to get stuff done, Hermione thought. The medbay was also devoid of life, of both Doctor Pomfrey and her helpers. Hermione walked to the supply closet, grabbed some bruise balm, and a bandage. Unfortunately for her, however, she was not particularly adept at bandaging with her non-dominant hand. She was about to give up, when she heard voices.

Hermione stepped into the main room, where she saw Marietta and Penelope sitting at the desk. She walked closer, bandage in hand, to ask for their help. At least she could count on them to be discreet and not ask too many questions. Hermione did not know if she could say the same thing for Pomfrey.

“Having a party to celebrate our victory before a man’s about to be executed? I know he’s a murderous terrorist, but seems a bit macabre, don’t you think? Can we wait a bit?” Marietta said. “Oh, Hermione, there you are!” Hermione stopped in her tracks. “We looked for you when we got the message to come in for a shift but you weren’t in your bed.”

Luck was truly on her side today. Hermione would have never known that without her wristband. When this shift was over, she really had to put it back on.

“I work out in the mornings. That’s why I wasn’t around.” Thinking on her feet, Hermione added, “I was a little distracted this morning and I dropped a weight on my hand.” She showed them the offending limb to prove her point.

“Do you want me to look at it?” Penelope asked, getting up.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, please.” She knew it wasn’t broken but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else check.

“Hmm,” Penelope said, taking her hand. Her fingers were cold, much colder than Severus’s had ever been.

_No_ , Hermione thought. _Stop_.

“Doesn’t look broken, but is probably sprained. Do you want me to wrap it up for you?” Hermione handed off the bandage.

“Are you excited about tonight?” Marietta asked from behind Penelope.

“What’s tonight?”

“The party!”

“Oh, that’s right. Of course,” Hermione replied. Marietta had not been kidding when she said that was ill-timed.

“I’m a little excited for you. During the last one, you had Longbottom, Weasley, and Malfoy all clamoring for your affection.” Hermione grimaced. That was not how she remembered it. “Who will be the lucky man this time?”

“Hopefully no one,” Hermione said. When Marietta appeared disappointed at her answer, Hermione added, “I think I, um... need to work on myself at the moment.”

Either that was sufficiently explanatory or simply off-putting, because Marietta stopped asking Hermione questions after that. This was for the best because Hermione was formulating her own plan. During the last party, she had remarked that it would be the ideal time for an enemy to attack because everyone would be distracted. If there was ever a chance for them to talk to Sirius, it would be then.

Hermione doubted a terrorist on death row would even want to talk to three little recruits like them, but she would offer up the idea to Harry anyway. Or maybe she would be wrong and he would have something to say to his godson, which was still awful to think about. Regardless, she would try to be his friend for once.

* * *

Snape had not contacted her. No “I’m okay. What about you?” No explanation about leaving her alone in the bed. Nothing. Hermione did not know whether to be relieved or even more devastated. She settled for both. A fresh wave of pain crashed over her, its crest hitting her in time with her beating heart.

“Hey, Mione. What’s up?” Ron asked, when she joined them at their table. “What happened to your hand? Did you get it stuck in the door again?”

“That’s a funny way to say that _you_ broke it last time,” Hermione retorted.

Hermione realized with a pang that she probably would not have even become close with Snape if Ron had not shut her hand in that hydraulic door. While she could not blame her teammate for everything she had done with that officer, it did feel like it was somewhat his fault.

“Anyway, did you two know there would be a party tonight?” she asked.

“Yes,” they replied in unison. “It was part of a ship-wide notification,” Ron added.

“Of course,” Hermione said, like she was only asking for rhetorical effect. “Well, I think we should try tonight.”

“Try what?” Ron asked.

“Try to talk to _you-know-who_. We won’t get a better opportunity.”

“I don’t know, Mione. Are you—”

“Let’s do it,” Harry interrupted. “Hermione’s right. Now’s our best chance.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt. It might be a fool’s errand but Hermione had become quite good at being played for the fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're like 'why is there another party?', just know I can't legally put my name on a fic unless Hermione and Snape attend at least two (2) fancy dress parties. It's in my contract. My hands are tied ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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